


Mudblood Sucker

by NightOfMine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexuality, Drama, F/F, F/M, Heterosexuality, Homosexuality, Mentions of Rape, Murder, Torture, Violence, extreme slow burn (in case of Bellamione), slow burn (in case of Fleurmione), some (weird?) kind of polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 207,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightOfMine/pseuds/NightOfMine
Summary: At times one is certain of what is to come, yet when they are faced with it they are proven terribly wrong. People are unreasonable and challenges often come with pain. Hermione believes herself above such matters. Still, ever so slowly, she is being enchanted by Bellatrix, who wants nothing but to hurt and kill the Mudblood. That is, until...
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 39
Kudos: 80





	1. Torture and a Mudblood (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there,
> 
> This story will contain Bellamione, Fleurmione and Krumione; in other words, polyamory will be present (in a, somewhat, twisted way... 'Bellatrix' is all I have to say to that). Honestly, Krum will play an important role in Hermione's life, but the focus of Hermione's heart will waver towards Fleur and Bellatrix, given time.
> 
> Besides that, this story is not for the faint-hearted, I advise that you stop reading now if violence and torture are not your cups of tea. 
> 
> If that has not scared you away yet, then I hope you will enjoy the story!

When one is bound back-to-back to their friends and shoved around like a ball being tossed between several people, it is very difficult to think if there could be a possible way to escape the threatening future. Yet, even if they were not being pushed around, Hermione knew there was no escaping this scene, not with their wands confiscated and so many Snatchers surrounding them. Harry's and her own wandless abilities were not good enough to fight them all. And, the last time she checked, Ron was still a novice with the skill and she did not have a clue about the other captives' abilities.

The Snatchers had taken them to an unfamiliar place, the Muggle-born did not know where they were until the men had mentioned it. Malfoy Manor. This was supposed to be one of Voldemort's hideouts, the Order had always suspected as much.

At the realization of their nearing doom, a shiver went through her body. One of fear.

As they reached the gates of Malfoy Manor, one of the Snatchers tried to open it without success. He grunted in frustration as he used all of his strength to try and pry it open, but the metal did not move even the slightest centimetre. Whilst he spun around with a questioning look on his face, the men were startled by a voice that erupted from the gate.

Hermione studied them in slight astonishment. _Have they not been here before? Could that mean that this house is not the headquarters of Voldemort?_

The metallic voice asked what they had come here for and Greyback had likely lost his patience - if he ever had any - for he triumphantly roared that they had captured 'Harry fucking Potter'.

The gates opened at once, without the usual creak or squeak which could normally be expected. One would almost question if there were any hinges involved.

Pushed towards the opening, the bound prisoners had little choice but to walk. Ron grumbled, wanted to be stubborn, but a smack on the back of his head kept him silent and obedient for the rest of the walk.

One could smell the dread in the air between the five captives, a scent of cold sweat mixed with angst. Greyback howled with laughter at the sight, soon followed by the other Snatchers. Hermione could imagine how the joyful adrenaline rushed at full speed through their veins. Her thoughts were bitter, from the dark she shot daggers with her eyes at these horrid men.

If only she had been able to protect them... It had all happened way too fast.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had finally been making some progress in finding the next Horcrux when Ron had discovered the fitting password for Potterwatch. All three of them had listened to every word coming from the radio; after all, they had not heard from any of the Weasleys for far too long. Not to forget Lupin, Kingsley and Lee Jordan. Their familiar voices and jokes had eased some of the tension which had seemingly settled permanently in the muscles of each of their shoulders.

For a moment Hermione had even closed her eyes and pretended that their friends had all been there with the Trio in the middle of the woods.

Hermione had not allowed herself to ponder over it, with everything else that was far more important during these dreadful times, but she had missed them dearly. Hearing them had created a painful reminder of their absence. Yet it was bittersweet still, for they _lived_ , their friends would not die that easily.

Harry and Ron had practically glowed with happiness as they listened to the radio; their positivity had skyrocketed at that moment.

Only then had the Muggle-born realized how lonely they had truly been. Without any of their other friends and loved ones around them. Luckily Harry and Hermione had always had each other. Naturally, Ron had been with them as well, though with a period of time wherein he had been absent. And even before that something had not felt right between her and Ronald; and they both knew perfectly well why. Though, perhaps, Hermione was better aware of it than Ron.

If she had not had Harry with her all this time… She would certainly have gone mad from the isolation.

Before the podcast, it had felt as if they had been the only ones fighting against Voldemort, but after hearing from their friends, those illusions had faded.

The Trio had missed a good laugh, and as tension slipped from their minds whilst they listened their guards were let down. With as result that Harry, in all his excitement, had spoken out the name of You-Know-Who; the one name which held a Taboo on it. And in a split-second, before they had been able to evacuate to a different place, they had been surrounded by the Snatchers that now held them captive. Of course, the Trio had tried to fight and flee, but in the end, they had still been captured.

However, before the Snatcher had seen Harry, Hermione had Jinxed him so that his face was now deformed. He had a swollen face as if he was stung by a hundred bees. All in the hope that he would become unrecognizable. And it _had_ worked for some time. Until those horrible men had started to prod them for information, inspecting them closely whilst they did. Alas, Fenrir Greyback had recognized Harry by the now outstretched lightning bolt on his forehead. And after all the other Snatchers had taken their time to see the 'weird-shaped lightning bolt' for themselves (some still arguing if it really was Potter), they had brought all the prisoners to the hideout of Lord Voldemort, Malfoy Manor. For they would not bring this catch to any other camp, too suspicious of other Snatchers. Probably with good reasons.

As they walked over the path, they were engulfed by high hedges on either side. Hedges so high that they blocked Hermione's view of the moon, which had already passed the highest point it would reach that night.

The group made their way to the big, haughty house. Even in only the glow of the moon the house looked cold and distant, or did the moonlight merely accentuate these characteristics? Hermione was of the opinion that the house seemed to watch in a disagreeing silence, loathing the fact that 'filth' currently walked on the gravel path towards itself.

The door was opened and a warm light flooded into the darkness of the night. A woman appeared, her silhouette was all which they could see. Even so, her disgust was clearly evident in her posture. Whether the revulsion was for the prisoners or the Snatchers, or mayhap both, was a debatable part of the situation. The woman's whole being was one of haughtiness. Hermione wondered if this was the Lady of the house, Draco's mother.

When Fenrir and the woman started to argue about the bound people Hermione had her answer. This was Narcissa Malfoy and she wanted a confirmation that this really was Harry Potter who they had captured.

Thus, the boy was roughly seized, which caused all the captives to stumble after him, and was put into the stream of light. Lady Malfoy took her time. Minutes went by in which Hermione stood in a very uncomfortable position, with her bowed forwards as her hands were forced to stay high. The rope cut painfully into her wrists. After Narcissa's examination, she led the way into the hallway. Somehow the bound people could walk through the doorpost, with a bit of a difficulty. The door was magically closed after the last Snatcher had entered the hallway.

The portraits too made sure to look as stiff as possible, the disgust clear on their features. All that moved were their eyes. Though one could still see that these paintings were magical.

Hermione saw, as soon as her eyes had adjusted to the light surroundings, that the portraits were divided into two groups.

On the left wall were the deceased family members of the Black family. With an air around them that made it impossible to miss their lurking eyes. The lurking appeared to be coming with a combination of pride, haughtiness and the sickening stiffness. It looked like the family had wanted to live up to their surname because the backgrounds consisted of the most impressive blackish colours the Muggle-born had ever seen. There were actually _different_ sorts of black used in the paintings.

On the opposite side of the hall, the right wall, was where the portraits of the deceased Malfoy family hung. It was obvious that the white-blonde hair Draco had proudly combed backwards all these years in Hogwarts had been in the family for generations. The black backgrounds of these portraits were less impressive than the ones of the Black family tree, but the details in the frames made up for that. From the most impressive woodcarvings to endlessly changing colours - though only colours that complimented the painted one's irises - adorned the frames.

The laughable aspect of these Malfoy paintings was the contrast between their hair and backgrounds. For the dark backgrounds made the hair of the painted persons look like weirdly shaped aureoles. Hermione would have laughed had they not been in their current situation.

The young woman took a deep breath and held it imprisoned in her lungs for a few seconds, then she let it escape slowly through her lips. She wanted to talk to Harry, to discuss possible tactics, but she knew it would not be wise. Instead, she clenched her jaws.

At the end of the hallway was a staircase and before that, on either side, were doors. Despite their current predicament, Hermione wondered where they would lead to.

Narcissa opened the double doors on the left side of the hall. And the prisoners were roughly pushed through them. Once everyone had entered the room the doors were slammed close. Something for which the man in question got a withering glare from both the lady and man of the house.

The captives were spun around, each and every one of them had to be faced and was made to bow their heads to a pair which looked much alike: Draco and Lucius Malfoy. The youngest could almost be described as a younger version of his father if only he had not inherited his mother's eyes and lips. No words were uttered - at least none Hermione could hear - between the Purebloods as Narcissa joined her small family by the fire. She sat down beside her son, but her posture never relaxed. Her body language spoke volumes, she would not allow a single hair on her son's body to be cursed by anyone.

Again, the group of captives was spun around, but this time Fenrir Greyback halted it halfway so that Harry stood with his deformed face directed at the three Malfoys.

While facing the left side of the room, the Muggle-born listened to the whole conversation. Only to be forcefully grasped herself moments later as if she were a trophy. No, not even that. It was as if she was an object, one that was worth nothing.

Her presence further proved Greyback's statement that the boy with the puffy, deformed face was, in fact, Harry Potter. Hermione kept her lips sealed, not a single sound left her throat. And she kept her features neutral as she came face to face with Draco, yet she could not suppress the feeling of surprise from flooding her body when she saw his scared expression. He avoided eye contact as if his life depended upon it. She felt weird as she realized that Draco was just as scared as they - the captives - were. Her suspicions that Voldemort was more than a mere 'bad man' was for the umpteenth time affirmed.

Lucius, on the other hand, was in a gleeful mood, his eyes roamed over all the prisoners. He obviously hoped to find even more evidence which would ensure them that it was indeed Harry Potter who stood in their midst, bound with his hands on his back and unable to escape. Vulnerable and weak.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" Lucius Malfoy sounded awfully happy in Hermione's ears. She let her gaze falter, her eyes locked on the dark polished wood underneath their feet.

One of the doors they had come through reopened, someone had been drawn in by the noise of excitement. The Muggle-born noticed it vaguely in the back of her mind. But she hardly cared at this point, for panic took its roots slowly but steadily in her system. Shivers made their way to her spine, they kept her body from regaining control.

Only when her surname was spoken out loud did Hermione realize that time still ticked on. She looked up. Ice shot through her veins and all colour was drained from her face. In front of her stood one of the most feared Muggle-haters alive. The corners of Bellatrix' lips curled upwards into a loathsome grin as she saw the effect her mere presence had on the girl. Her eyes seemed to blaze with all the anger and hate she carried within her.

Meanwhile, Hermione choked on her breath, for her throat felt as if hands had enclosed themselves around it. Hands which tightened with the passing of time ever so slightly. Then she felt a fleeting caress touch her fingers, two fingertips which tried to reach for hers. Their skin was rough and the nails were kept short: Harry. This act alone made the slightest sliver of hope bloom inside the Muggle-born. A whimper was the only sign she could give to her friend. Knowing that everyone else would believe it a sign of weakness, of fear for the Death Eater.

 _Does Harry know better?_ His fingertips squeezed hers gently. _Yes, he does._

Bellatrix' eyes shone with glee, truly convinced to have the Mudblood scared shitless.

Lucius interjected the momentary bliss. His announcement about having Potter in their midst made Bellatrix back away in surprise so that she was no longer staring at the Muggle-born. What would happen now that this murderer knew that Harry Potter was standing amongst the captives?

The Death Eater only needed a second to drag her left sleeve upwards, to reveal the Dark Mark. She was about to touch the tattoo to summon Voldemort when, yet again, Lucius interjected the process.

His grip on Bellatrix' wrist looked painful. The two Death Eaters began to quarrel about who had the _authority_ to call for their Master. If time had not made sure that these two figures were marked by the past, one would almost say that these were not adults but children fighting about who would get the biggest Chocolate Frog.

The bickering stopped just as suddenly as it had begun, for Bellatrix had seen something that made her stiffen at once.

A loud and distraught "STOP!" let everybody know there was something wrong, _disastrously_ wrong. Even Lucius dared not to touch his own Dark Mark, even though his finger hovered barely a centimetre above it. Bellatrix had her eyes fixed upon something the Trio could not see.

Dread filled Hermione anew, her mind raced through all possible situations, tried to anticipate whatever could happen next.

The Death Eater made her way towards her culprit, whilst she asked them questions. Questions which escalated, all too quickly, in Curses. With a voice that screeched in the chilliest of tones.

Hermione refused to look anywhere near the dark witch; instead, she focused her eyes upon the fire, before which Narcissa and Draco now stood.

It was only when the Lady of the House halted her older sister that Hermione was drawn back to their current situation. The flames had been able to distract her, but only for a very short time.

To her horror, Bellatrix now held the Sword of Gryffindor in her left hand.

The Death Eater stood face to face with her younger sister, both women had angry expressions. A charged silence filled the room, corners and crannies included. Hermione swore that she felt the temperature drop. She glanced from one to the other, unable to look away. _What is going on?_

In the end, it was Narcissa who gave up on the silent battle with her sister, which did not surprise anyone in the room. Yet as the youngest sister told Greyback to take the prisoners to the cellar, there was bitterness in her voice. And her pride was even further wronged as Bellatrix overruled her once more, "All except... Except for the Mudblood."

A twisted grin found its way onto Bellatrix' lips. Hermione's sliver of hope was crushed by it, her bowels cramped in fear, her knees would have buckled and given away under her if she had not been bound to the others.

The werewolf approved, that much was obvious. Ron, on the other hand, protested loudly; he wanted to trade himself for Hermione. It was hopelessly heroic. For it was clear that the Death Eater had set her mind on the young woman. Bellatrix' disapproval of Ron's behaviour was expressed in the form of her fist. The smack echoed through the room and Ron stumbled backwards against another captive.

Then a silver glint caught Hermione's eyes. Bellatrix had grabbed a knife from somewhere underneath her garments, and she held it comfortably in her hand.

Hermione's brown curls were painfully grabbed the moment she was cut free from the others. She was thrown in the middle of the room and as her body hit the floor she caught her last glimpse of a struggling Harry and Ron before the door was closed. Their yelling became muffled at once.

The Muggle-born silently swore to herself that she would not give the damned woman what she wanted, whatever it was. She clenched her jaws, defiance glowed in her eyes; fear was still in her system, but momentarily overruled by stronger feelings of pride and foolish bravery.

 _You will never get the truth out of me,_ Hermione promised to herself again.

Bellatrix was frighteningly quiet. The only sound she made was the heels of her boots that met the stone floor. It did not surprise Hermione that the dark witch acted like this. It always gave the captor a feeling of power when they could tower above their victims and circle around them; it underlined the fact that it was _their_ decision if the victim would live or die.

She tried to steady herself by slowly sitting up, but the Muggle-born stopped halfway. For she realized it was likely that any sign of an independent and defiant mind could trigger bloodlust inside the Death Eater facing her.

Bellatrix suddenly halted in her prowling and with her wand she pointed towards the sword, which now stood propped against the wall. The question was a whisper, one that did not reach Hermione's ears. But she did not need to hear the words spoken to know what was being asked. "How did you get this sword?"

The Muggle-born felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck, frozen in fear and basically waiting to be hit. Angst had gotten a steady grip on her, it showed in her features, yet her eyes still held a certain determination. Her jaws were tightly shut. She would not make this easy for her.

Hermione expected Curses to be fired towards her, had her body braced, but they did not come. Something which did not do any good to the Muggle-born's nerves. Since the upcoming doom and foreboding were all she could think of. Yet there came _nothing_...

Sure, an aura of furious danger oozed from the Death Eater in front of her, but no more than a hiss came from Bellatrix' bared teeth, broken and rotten in all their glory.

It was obvious that the dark witch held no fear of being overpowered by the Muggle-born sitting before her, for she came closer and asked the question again. This time it was no whisper, but no shout either. Just a normally voiced question. Though the only thing that manifested itself insides Hermione's head was her own question. _What is going on in Bellatrix' mind?_

The first Cruciatus Curse was shot and Hermione crumpled to the floor.

The loudest screams she had ever produced flowed steadily out of her, from the deepest parts of her body. They echoed everywhere. In the room, in her own head... It was as if she were being pierced by white-hot knives whilst every inch of her skin was set on fire. Her skull seemed to tighten around her brain. Or was it her brain which pressed against her skull, swelling up from the overdose of stimuli to her nerve system?

Every passing second grew for Hermione into miserable hours. Filled with a pain so great it should leave one numb, except it did not. It was one of the horrible aspects of the Curse; it disabled your body's automatic survive system, it kept one aware of _everything_ that happened to their body.

Hermione grabbed her head, to try and keep it all together, whilst her body shook in its pain. Her screams never faltered.

Then the Curse was lifted. With a thud, the shivering figure of the Muggle-born slumped on the floor.

Of course, Bellatrix did not let the painless moment last for long. For Hermione's jaw was painfully grabbed, the dark witch's nails dug into her skin. With a damaged conscious Hermione looked the Death Eater in the eyes. She wanted to say something, to hurt Bellatrix as well, yet a mere inaudible mumble came from her lips.

"You don't deserve anything better," dark brown eyes were frighteningly wide, "Now tell me, _filth_ , where did you find the sword?"

Hermione looked away, her body still limb. Her nerve system felt as if she had been electrocuted. The Muggle-born wanted to scream insults at the woman in front of her, to push her away, but the pain in her own body was narcotic. Instead, she kept on repeating to herself that she would _never_ tell the truth. The lie was simplistic and came easily, "I don't know, we just found it."

All of a sudden Bellatrix let go of her face as if burned and turned her back towards the Muggle-born, only to put all her strength in the kick she delivered at Hermione's thigh as she twirled back around. Hermione yelped in pain. "Don't you dare lie to me! Where?!"

Hermione flinched away, a pitiful whimper escaped from between her lips as she wrapped her arms around her head, predicting that there was more pain to come. "Please, I don't know!"

The Unforgivable Curse hit her body again and the screams were ripped out of her lungs once more. It forced her vocal cords in tones they never before had to reach. Bellatrix cackled and screamed insults in a delighted voice.

Pain dragged time into a slow phase, it lasted endlessly and never did the intensity of the Curse lessen.

At some point, Hermione swore that this pain would last forever, that this pain would go on inevitable. That these would be the last breathes she took, the last screams she would vocalize.

Then the Cruciatus Curse was lifted. And she was still very much alive.

A spasm went through her body and her breathing was unstable and ragged. Cold sweat covered her whole body and her sight was blurred. Vaguely Hermione's mind registered an approaching figure. It took her mind a split-second to comprehend that it was Bellatrix who looked down at her.

Suddenly, a heel prodded painfully against Hermione's ribs, as it tried to force its way between her bones. Pleading was the only thing the Muggle-born could do. However, at some point, her voice cracked into sobbing murmurs.

"You filthy girl. Tell me where you found the sword! You are playing with my patience and I can tell you, there is not much left! Tell me!" The shrieks from the Death Eater seemed dangerously close and with every word, the heel was given more strength by its owner. With all her might, Hermione forced words over her lips, but after every plea for mercy Bellatrix' face constricted in even more disgust. "I am not going to ask again! Where did you get this sword? Where?!"

"We found it – we found it -" more pressure, her ribs were about to break, her eyes widened in panic, "PLEASE!"

CRACK!

Screams engulfed the whole room. The Muggle-born was on the verge of losing her conscious when another pain caused her body to twist in every direction. With every move, the burning in her torso got worse. Hermione had to try and stay as still as possible, which was no real option in her current predicament. Screams were supposed to come uncontrollably from her body, but they were cut short because of the piercing pain in her ribcage. Yet they still filled her mind.

Ebony mane swept across the room as the dark witch danced around in it, howling with laughter. The joy, however, was soon gone. Bellatrix stopped and lifted the Curse. And observed the twisting woman before her.

At once, Hermione stiffened, trying to hide her face behind her hands. They were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.

A soft voice spoke, frighteningly sweet and completely in contrast to the person in question. "Filthy, little thing. You are stupid for not telling me the truth... Where did you find the sword?!"

The only responses Bellatrix got from the Muggle-born were more shudders and soft 'I do not know's'.

The woman's patience was now in the minus. She raised her voice enough for it to rebound off the walls, "You are _lying_ , filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"

Another Crucio was shot and more screams followed.

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with my knife!" Only when the Curse was lifted did Hermione see the blade of the knife, which blinked dangerously in the light of the fire as it hovered above her face.

A hoarse sound was the first thing to come between the huffs. Breathing had become torture of itself. It was only after several tries that Hermione was able to get the words "found it" roll off her tongue.

A disbelieving sneer came on Bellatrix' lips. She raised her hand in the air and slapped Hermione across the face with such force that the Muggle-born's lower lip cracked. A metallic liquid slowly found its way to her tastebuds, blood.

The shrill voice of the woman above her pierced the silence in the room, "Cissy, would you like some slices of Mudblood, to feed to your poor excuse of a husband?" A low cackle erupted out of Bellatrix.

There was some noise in the back of the room, by the fire, but Hermione did not care to look around. She just laid there. The pain in her body occupied almost all her thoughts. She could barely keep her mind's thought patterns clear enough to complete a whole sentence inside her head.

The dark witch flicked her wand and suddenly, there was something that bound itself around Hermione's wrist. She looked and saw how a now living carpet tried to devour her right arm, beginning with her underarm. Yet another flick of Bellatrix' wand made the carpet stiffen. _A nonverbal Stupefy,_ Hermione thought. More pressure followed, this time on her left wrist. It was Bellatrix who pressed the heel of her boot upon it, likely not caring if she also broke that part in Hermione's body.

Fresh panic engulfed the Muggle-born. The emotion almost felt alien-like to her battered mind and nerve system. The Curses had effectively shattered the natural communication between her brains and body. Her thoughts, on the other hand, where perfectly clear at this very moment. The rush of adrenaline clearly still had its effect.

In this moment of clear thoughts, Hermione tried to think of _something_ to distract the dark witch with. Anything to escape whatever the Death Eater wanted her to be bound for. Yet everything which came to mind was something she was incapable of doing. She tried to wrestle against the things which held her in place but the burning pain directly beside her lungs stopped these feeble attempts at rebellion.

Never had the Muggle-born felt this pathetic. She could not do _anything._ Desperate wishes invaded her mind; about how she wanted to be with Harry. To be back in the tent, having an argument with Ron about what their next step should be to find the other Horcruxes. Unfortunately, her wishes did not make any difference; Hermione was still in the same room. Still unable to free herself. Still a pathetic Muggle-born. _Mudblood_.

"Oh, stop crying, filthy Mudblood! I am only going to make you prettier."

The dark witch watched Hermione as she laid beneath her, a shuddering form on the floor, with teary eyes.

A twisted smile settled on Bellatrix' lips, her eyes filled with a hunger for blood. A desire to carve something in her flesh, to see this woman's dirty blood pool out of deep cuts, came to life inside the dark witch.

The Death Eater crouched down. It was now her grip which forced Hermione's arm on the ground. Bellatrix' nails dug once more into flesh.

"How unfortunate," she said in a mocking voice. "It seems that I have to do the carving with my left hand... Not my best hand with a knife... Don't be saddened if I mess it up a little." The maddening cackle made Hermione grow paranoid. The situation made her feel like a puppet; she could not even _struggle_ against Bellatrix painful grip. Not that it would have mattered, the damned Death Eater could end her life here and now. Any of these miserable moments could be Hermione's last.

When the blade made the first contact with Hermione's skin, she choked on the air she inhaled. Screams which should have been powerful and piercing through everyone's soul were now weak, barely loud enough to echo. Still, they engulfed the room in all its glory.

The knife created a different pain than that of the Cruciatus Curse. Hermione had been cut before, but those had only been tiny slices from the pages of a book, loose papers and parchments, whenever she was clumsy with a kitchen knife or when she had fallen.

This, however, was a pain that did not resemble any of those paper cuts or scratches. It were deliberate cuts, made to cause utmost destruction on one spot at a time; with each slice the blade made, it left a throbbing and bleeding wound behind. Her flesh was left open and unprotected. She tried to wrestle her arm out of Bellatrix' grip, but it was to no avail. One could not even call these attempts 'wrestling', for all the young woman did was tensing her muscles. Hermione had grown too weak.

The Death Eater did not even seem to notice; she was hypnotized by the white flesh that turned a red crimson before her very eyes. All because of the wounds _she_ created. The haze in her mind was one of happiness, for she was in power, she had the control of whatever happened next.

Warm, red liquid found its way to the carpet, flowing in a steadily, yet slow way from the fresh cuts.

Pathetic and forlorn. Never had the Muggle-born felt this worthless. In her miserable state, the sobs were to no one's surprise and the tears were almost welcomed with a smile, for she could try and put all her hope in those hateful salty water drops. Perhaps these tears could make her hope to escape and survive disappear, then she could beg to be killed.

Yet Ron's cries kept her aware of the situation she was in; his loud voice came from downstairs, it was a hollowly, muffled sound. The floor and walls blocked his screams for the most part. Despite this, her mind could hold onto his screams, they forbid her to give up. For they made Harry's silence speak volumes to her; it meant he was working on something, he had a plan - or at least created one - to escape. _What is Harry doing?_

When Bellatrix was done, she sprung to her feet - a combination of panic and rage reared its horrible head again now that she had nothing to entertain herself with. The furniture became the dark witch's second culprit; she kicked and hurled everything within reach around the room. Hermione lay forgotten on the carpet, like a corpse waiting to be covered by a blanket. One could almost believe she was already dead, for her torso barely moved and her eyes stared listlessly at the ceiling.

The woman spun around, her chest heaved up and down as she breathed frantically, then Bellatrix demanded in desperation, "What else did you take, what else?! ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!" And back came the white-hot knives, piercing every centimetre of Hermione's body. Her bones began to protest as well, it felt as if the muscles were slowly ripped off from them.

When the Curse was lifted, silence fell over the room once more. Hermione's inhuman screams only echoed inside her own head. Her mind was total chaos, there was not anything sensible in her train of thoughts. She had completely lost reality. Yet she was able to register the sensation of liquid that flowed from her nostrils. Had her brains taken so much damage that she had a nosebleed?

On her right arm, the carpet had become alive again, with a newfound hunger for her arm. To Hermione's relief, her torturer interrupted, yet again, its proceedings. The Death Eater kicked its beak-shaped form away from the Muggle-born's arm - who embraced herself in a feeble attempt to protect herself from further harm - and produced a Counter Charm to end the carpet's artificial existence.

The tips of Bellatrix' shoes turned towards the shivering figure on the floor. The woman's shadow minimized as she crouched down. Words were whispered, in a voice soft and vacant of any hatred. Questions like 'Where did you find the sword?' or 'Did you take anything else from my vault?' were all that came from the woman's lips. The Muggle-born just laid on the floor, too lost in her pain to even care anymore. Slowly she turned her head to look the Death Eater straight in the eyes from between her arms, though Hermione kept her lips tightly shut. _I will take the truth with me to my grave._

Whispers turned steadily into hissed words and Bellatrix took a handful of brown curls. Hermione's head was lifted from the floor, while the woman's other hand snaked around her throat. The Death Eater was on the verge of strangling the young woman.

"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little Goblin in the cellar help you?" For a moment, the fingers tightened dangerously around Hermione's throat, and her lungs begged for fresh air immediately, though Bellatrix granted the Muggle-born enough air to enable speech.

"We only met him tonight!"

 _I need an explanation_ ; and as if she had been prepared all along, Hermione's brains began to plot a lie at once. Even through the disarray of her shattered mind, the Muggle-born could contemplate a fitting tale.

She inhaled as much air as possible to steady her mental state and forced her voice to stop quivering. She was exhausted but the lie came smoothly nonetheless. "We have never been inside your vault..." Panic rose when Bellatrix' fingers tightened again and made the Muggle-born scream the last part of her explanation. "It is not the real sword! It is just a copy, just a copy!"

Bellatrix eyes widened dangerously, "A copy? Oh, a likely story!"

Lucius did, as per usual, disagree with Bellatrix and shouted they should check first, before jumping to conclusions. They had the Goblin in the cellar to verify if the sword was indeed a replica. The man's voice was hopeful and determined. He demanded his son to go and fetch the creature from the cellar; not giving a rat's ass about Bellatrix' opinion.

The dark witch set her murderous eyes upon Lucius. Her control over the situation had been taken from her.

Hermione gasped for air as the Death Eater let go of her throat.

Bellatrix stood up, all the while she still held the Muggle-born's curls tightly in her grip. She even heaved the young woman higher from the ground than was necessary. This on itself was extremely painful for Hermione. Then the Death Eater hissed that there was more pain to come and after that, she threw Hermione onto the floor. Her head hit the carpet, but it did little to soften the fall. The smack was too hard; she was unconscious the moment she hit the ground.

But as if not a second had passed by, the Muggle-born awoke when a horrifying pain settled itself inside her body. It was accompanied by questions asked by Bellatrix, but they were not even directed at her. _Why am I being punished?!_ She tried to voice this desperate question out in her hollow screams, but as her vocal cords had never been abused like this before, there came no question. Just her screams.

The white-hot knives were gone the moment the Death Eater flicked her wand and the Muggle-born was left stirring with spasms on the floor. Her erratic breathing made her feel light-headed, but inhaling too deeply would cause her rib chase to protest. She had no other choice. Broken bones are able to do a lot of damage to organs in general, but broken ribs were a lot more dangerous; one wrong move and she could tear her lung open. Obviously, she wanted to avoid a punctured lung at all costs. It was a miracle that it had not happened yet.

Time slipped through the invisible fingers of Hermione's mind and for the most part, she was not aware of what was happening around her, but at some point, she saw the silhouette of a small creature being questioned and tortured by Bellatrix as well: Griphook.

She did not want to, but yet again screams were dragged out from her lungs as the Cruciatus Curse hit her body. All she could do was twist because of the pain, trying her best to hold everything together. It was getting harder every time the Curse made contact with her body. Hermione was mostly unaware of it, but a trail of blood came from her nose and her left underarm, and her body was littered with bruises and cuts.

Griphook was the reason that the Curse was lifted this time. The Goblin's voice rasped through the room.

Some precious, Curse free minutes went by while Hermione laid on the floor. She tried to think about something happy; images from her past with Harry, Viktor, Luna, Ginny and Ron flew around inside her head. The mental images were vague and far away, her mind could not quite grasp them; yet she knew that she was thinking about them.

The Curse slashed through her mental peacefulness, it forced her to forget about them the very moment it hit her body, it was as if the images had never haunted her mind.

Not once this night had Hermione looked at Bellatrix while her body was in the all-consuming, horrifying pain of the Cruciatus Curse. In a moment of desperation, she opened her eyes whilst her body writhed. She found her torturer's eyes immediately and she made sure the connection never wavered. For she wanted Bellatrix to see the pain she was in, even though the Muggle-born knew that it would not make any difference. The dark witch savoured the moments she got to make others suffer. Even so, there had to be some part of her that was still able to empathise with others... right?

Hermione cursed her own naivety.

At first, Bellatrix' response was a low growl but it steadily grew into one of her maddening cackles. The woman still found pleasure in hurting her, Hermione's action even seemed to spur her on. The Muggle-born felt humiliated, but the twisting pain kept the emotions from truly getting to her, they could not settle within her. Pain which formed a barrier against feelings.

Hermione gave up, she closed her eyes and just gave up.

Bellatrix' interest in her loosened then and the Curse was lifted. She slumped to the ground, her body twitched and spasmed. It was one of the after-effects. Her sight was blurred; the flow of her bloodstream was all that she could hear in her ears. Though Bellatrix' insults and questions for Griphook still ringed in her mind vaguely, as if the dark witch were miles away. Together with the echoes of her own screams they filled and contorted her thoughts wholly.

It felt as if every millimetre of her skin was drawn taut over her bones, it caused a burning sensation. Every cell in her body throbbed in pain and it only grew worse.

Minutes ticked on in which the Death Eater tortured the Goblin mercilessly. And Bellatrix would continue until the creature would finally tell her what she longed to hear. Hermione was not aware of it, but Griphook affirmed her story. He said the sword to be a fake. A gasp was drawn from the Death Eaters in the room. And somehow they believed it. People could be blind and stupid when it meant they could believe something they wanted to.

The pain in her body worsened. Her breathing, shallow and fast, made black spots appear in her sight. The last Hermione was able to decipher from her blurred - and steadily darkening - vision was that Bellatrix touched her Dark Mark. And a looming figure was behind her, probably Lucius, whom she believed made gleeful comments. But her mind could not truly register it anymore.


	2. The Effects of Stubbornness

Webs. She bounced between them, their colours constantly changing from one vibrant hue to another. Her being was nothing and non-existent, yet she was right there being _something..._ or maybe even someone? A string was bound around her, ensnared, she dangled dangerously in the air. Suspended from the ground. Gravity was undecided, did it like to see her fall, or was she more fun whilst she had to twirl through the air?

All that surrounded her twisted and swayed before her eyes, like an abstract storm upon the ocean. And she was on this teensy tiny boat which had to navigate through it all. Hurled from one side to the other. No end to the waves which were everywhere. Being thrown from left, to right, left again, upside down. Nausea...

Without full awareness Hermione pushed herself awkwardly to the edge of the object she laid on and vomited. She briefly noted a pair of hands that currently held back her curls, to keep them out of her face and vomit. After the last retch, the Muggle-born slumped down and let her face rest on the edge of what she now knew to be a mattress. Her eyes had not opened while she vomited and she kept them closed still. A shudder went through her body and a shaky breath left between her lips. She was too tired to move. It was a tiredness that was rooted deep in her bones. Within every cell of her being.

Everything inside her hurt, not a fibre in her body was spared from the pain. Her being felt as if it was not her own, as if it did not belong to her. There was a numbness in the receptors of her nerve system, yet not a single sensation went unnoticed. The combination confused the young woman, made everything feel unreal to her. It even made her question the state of her sanity, which are horrifying thoughts to have.

She laid still, literally unable to care enough to move to a more comfortable position. And she listened listlessly to her own breathing; ragged, slow and painful.

Then she felt against her flaming, irritated skin, a caress of cold fingers. No, it was no caress, they wiped something off; fingers that held a wet cloth and it wiped away fluid from around her mouth and nose. _Snot and vomit?_ Hermione was not sure, but it was the likeliest possibility. The gentleness of the fingers and their careful touch could have a person easily fooled that it was not something as filthy as one's vomit which they wiped away.

Hermione's thoughts went back into the past. She had no problem with recollecting what had happened to her in Malfoy Manor. Involuntary shudders danced over her spine, her body was overwhelmed by the mere memories. Yet she stayed with her mind in the past, for there was a gap. The riddles for her were _how_ she had gotten here. And _where_ 'here' was. With _whom_ she currently shared this embarrassingly intimate moment with. _And where the fucking fuck_ are _Harry and Ron!?_

Hermione's form stirred, she was about to vocalize her questions - if her vocal cords would allow her - but someone beat her to it. The owner of the hands spoke softly, her voice melodious and heavily accented.

"Everything ees well, 'Ermione. 'Arry and Ronald are downstairs." Hands began to gently press against her shoulders, "Ma chérie, eet would be best for you to lie on your back. Your ribs are still sour and fragile, I may 'ave 'ealed them, but they are een a stage wherein they can easily be broken once more. With the littlest of movements or touches."

With the help of Fleur, Hermione rolled in the desired position. It _did_ make it easier for her to breath.

She turned her head towards the quarter-Veela and for the first time since she had awakened she opened her eyes. The light blinded her, it actually _hurt_ her. Even such a simple act actually caused her pain. She had to blink quite a lot, it took her more than a minute to be able to see the profile of the French woman and another minute to be able to see her eyes, nose, and lips. Fleur's features were a combination of concern and gentle kindness. Her silver-blonde hair sat in a messy bun in the nape of her neck. She was beautiful still, always would be.

When the Muggle-born spoke it was barely a whisper, yet it was all that was needed in the silence of the room. "What has happened?" These were not the words Hermione had wanted to ask, for, of course, she knew Fleur would not know anything about Malfoy Manor. But somewhere in the connection between her mind and tongue there had gone something wrong. It had made her formulate the question differently. She had actually wanted to ask about her own whereabouts. Hermione did not truly want to know what kind of state she fared in, but, alas, considering this was about her own body she had little choice in the matter.

"Well, chérie, I was not told what 'as 'appened to you, the boys will not tell me anything, but you 'ave obviously been tortured. Someone 'urted you with the intention to kill you..." Here Fleur paused in both her words and ministrations, of which the later consisted of her applying a salve to the bruises and cuts on Hermione's body. Fleur's eyes flashed with a dangerous spark, a frown settled on her face. Dark blue eyes looked out of the window, Hermione could no longer see them. When the blue eyes came once more into view they avoided brown ones, and instead focussed on Hermione's skin as she continued the process she had paused. With careful fingers, she anointed the younger woman. "Your whole body ees een a battered state; bruises and cuts everywhere. But you know that, of course.

"What you do not know, ees that I 'ealed your broken ribs, 'owever, I still want you to take a portion of the Skele Gro. Not yet, later, at some point today. Because your body ees een a state of shock, which makes eet difficult for me to calculate 'ow eet responds to the potions you digest. So until then, I want you to be extremely careful een every way possible." Fleur paused again, her fingers trailed a bruise on Hermione's stomach. A silence during which the French woman seemed to contemplate several things. When she finally continued, her voice was a mere whisper, "And I only know of a few Curses that can cause this amount of damage upon a person. I don't need to be told which one eet was to know that your internal organs 'ave suffered as well. Alas, there ees not anything specific I can do about that, but I do 'ave a plan to 'eal them on a more basic level. Which should still prove effective.

"But 'Ermione, we 'ave to take your 'ealing process slow. I need to read some books and your body cannot be forced through all the 'ealing eet needs either. Not all at once. For eet would simply be too much. A living being can only take a certain amount of recovery, magical or not."

Hermione had not once averted her eyes from the French woman, she had observed every facial expression which had appeared. It was a curious experience to watch another's lips move and listen to their voice while being half delusional. The younger woman wondered how long she had been here, for Fleur seemed to have it all perfectly planned out. Not a detail was forgotten or dismissed. Something which must have taken a few hours, or one at the very least.

" _Thank you, for your good care, Fleur,"_ Hermione murmured, her French was a little hesitant, for she had to think of the words and form the sentence in her head before she could say them aloud. Yet she got a smile from her hostess nonetheless.

" _How well do you understand my mother tongue, 'Ermione?"_

_"My understanding is better than my ability to speak, but maybe there will be time to work on that, now that I am here?"_

"'Onestly? _"_ At this Fleur raised one eyebrow at Hermione, as if to convey to the other that she was insulted. Hermione raised her eyebrows in shock. Had she offended the quarter-Veela just now?

Then, all of a sudden, the seriousness was broken with a smile, " _I would love to, I dearly miss talking in my own language, English is such a harsh tongue."_ Fleur chuckled as she saw Hermione's expression change from shock to apprehension. The younger woman smiled weakly in return.

The silence that followed between them was necessary. Because Hermione needed to close her eyes, as the nausea from earlier threatened to return. After a few minutes, the feeling subsided. When she reopened her eyes she had to get used to the light all over again.

Outside the sky had darkened since her awakening, it was no longer a light grey. A storm currently raged above the ocean and it would not be long before it would swallow them in it as well. The French woman looked through the window, while she fiddled with the seams of her sleeves. Then she stood from her seat, turned around and walked to the table near the window, where she shuffled with a few flasks, some linen, and dried herbs.

" _For now I want you to drink two more Potions. One is to stabilize and regulate your hormone levels, in the hope that your body will sooner come out of its shock. The other is a basic Healing Potion, which I will dilute so that your body should not feel forced into its recovery."_

 _"You are not even going to ask about the cause of my injuries?"_ Hermione asked tentatively.

The older woman nodded _, "I am doubtful that you would willingly tell me anything about it, no? Or am I mistaken?"_

The Muggle-born bit on her lip, she should not have asked. It was one of those questions that could only make things awkward between them.

" _That is what I thought as well,"_ Fleur said with a dry tone. " _However, I did make my own deductions, after seeing you in the state that you are."_

Hermione charged Fleur with a different question, _"How is it possible that you have a Potion to regulate one's hormones with? You must have had it in stock. For the herbs are supposed to be of an expensive nature and hard to find in the wild, not to mention the brewing process. It takes ages - well a week - to brew it."_ Hermione muttered, her mind began to slowly clear the fog away. She was still tired and would be for a very long time, but she was glad that she felt as if her senses and wit slowly awakened nonetheless.

A wry smile appeared on Fleur's lips, " _That is what happens when your partner gets bitten by a werewolf. Luckily, I am quite capable to brew the potion myself and I grow the herbs I need in my garden."_

The younger woman nodded. These were quite logical explanations, she could have come up with them herself - no, she _should_ have come up with them herself. Maybe she was not yet as sharp as she had thought a moment ago.

" _But there is something else, 'Ermione..."_ The hesitance was evident in her tone as Fleur returned to the side of the bed, she did not sit down, however. Her gaze flicked from Hermione, back to the window and then she truly focussed her dark blue on light brown eyes. " _What is written on your arm... I have tried... I truly did..."_ Her eyes grew full of sorrow, " _But everything I did..."_

Failed.

Hermione stretched out her hand - only now did she notice the bandages bound around her underarm - and tried to reach for Fleur's fingers, which hung loosely at her side. When the older woman understood what she wanted Fleur reached out as well. The temperature of their fingers was a complete contrast. But the Muggle-born ignored this and squeezed Fleur's fingertips softly with her own, while she looked up with sincere gratitude. _"Thank you, for all that you have tried, please, do not feel bothered by it, you have helped me so much already."_

Then Hermione loosened her grip on Fleur's fingers and let her arm fall back on the mattress. Even this softened fall of her limb made Hermione flinch in pain.

She began to fidget a bit, for she wanted to sit up with her back against the headboard. And said as much to Fleur. Who nodded, asked if she wanted help, but the Muggle-born declined. She did not want to be dependent on anybody, not when she could help it.

Hermione gritted her teeth, shards of pain shredded her body. Her ribcage, particularly, burned and stung.

It was a struggle, but after a minute or five, Hermione sat upright. Her breath had grown shallow because of the effort it had taken from her. For a moment she closed her eyes and listened to Fleur's mostly noiseless cluttering.

A hand on her forehead made her open her eyes. " _You have a fever; your temperature is way too high."_

" _Doesn't really surprise me,"_ Hermione said humourlessly, while she eyed the new flasks on the nightstand. Fleur handed one and thereafter the other to Hermione, who drank them without any complains, even though they tasted bitter and sour.

The silence filled the air, it was tense with questions neither of them asked.

Hermione let her eyes travel to the sky. She had not the strength to go outside, but if there was one thing she wanted right now, it was to feel the wind blow through her curls and caress her skin. A wishful sigh left between her lips.

She laid her right hand over the word beneath the bandages and felt her flesh throb. _Will it become a scar, or will it forever be an open wound? Because it_ is _cursed, otherwise Fleur would have been able to heal it._ "It could have been worse," Hermione mumbled to herself, her eyes no longer saw; they were focussed on images inside her head. Flashes of images; of Bellatrix who had put the blade on Hermione's flesh, of her crazy, dark brown eyes. Hermione's ears filled with echoes of the past, a manic laugh and her own screams which were harmonically supported by Bellatrix' mad cackle.

The quarter-Veela could not stand the helpless look which the younger woman's features could not hide. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and took both hands of the Muggle-born into her own; though she dared not meet Hermione's eyes and instead looked at their hands as if they held all the answers in the world.

But she said nothing.

Fleur wanted to ask her so many questions, not the least was who had done this to her, but she knew better. It was extremely unlikely that the trio would say anything about their 'mission'. Dumbledore had hinted to the Order that there were certain plans in the making, but he had never revealed anything. At least not when she had been present.

Her heart reached out for her companion, but she doubted that the Muggle-born in question registered it all.

They sat like this for a very long time. It granted Hermione a certain peace of mind in which she could rationalize about their current situation, but the more she thought about it the more she realized how much she did not know. She had to ask questions, talk to Harry and Ron, plan their next step, and if possible conduct several different ways to reach their 'next step'.

Her burning curiosity was awakened once more. Even in her half-drugged state, she was able to think about these matters. That had to mean something, right? _Maybe I have not gone insane yet._

Hermione's eyes went to Fleur and the silence was broken with her question about how they had arrived here. While she knew that the French woman would not know anything about Malfoy Manor, she could probably provide Hermione with enough information to still her hunger for answers, at least for now.

The quarter-Veela hesitated a moment before she spoke and answered the question. An action which made Hermione slightly suspicious that there had happened more than Fleur told her about. But the Muggle-born decided not to jump to conclusions.

Meanwhile, Fleur decided she should not yet tell Hermione about Dobby's death. The young woman had barely been awake for more than an hour, it would simply be unreasonable. She answered the question to the best of her ability, leaving the 'dead house-Elf part' unspoken.

When she had recounted everything that had transpired since the moment the trio, Luna, Ollivander, Griphook, and Dean had appeared on their doorstep, she slowly let go of Hermione's hands. Fleur wanted to get some clean clothes for Hermione to wear.

The younger woman looked surprised at hearing that there were others here as well.

"'Ermione," Fleur said, " _I am going to get you some fresh clothes. Please, don't get out of bed, okay? I want to be there when you stand up for the first time, just to be sure everything goes alright."_ Hermione noted with appreciation that the French woman did not say that she 'could not' stand up, as so many doctors would have said. In such situations, Hermione always felt tempted to prove the opposite, but now she did not have to. The Muggle-born nodded absentmindedly, for her eyes travelled through the room, it was the first time she truly looked at the furniture.

It was not a big room, but not utterly small either. Her bed was in the corner, farthest from the door. She had a nightstand on her left and a wall with a window on her right, of which the curtains were currently closed. The curtains of the other window had been drawn open by Fleur when she had prepared Hermione's potions. Under this window stood the table on which Fleur had stalled several flasks, herbs, a book which laid open and two others, smaller books, laid closed. A quill and inkpot stood ready to use. There was no parchment, however.

A sour smell caught her attention and to her disdain Hermione noticed the bucket partly hidden behind her nightstand. Embarrassment minutely made her blush. Until she saw something that chilled her to the bones. Her vomit was coloured a dark red, blood. Hermione reasoned that Fleur had not banished the content of the bucket because she probably wanted to examine it further. _But how will she get the right equipment she needs therefor?_

Hermione distracted herself, for she did not really want to know. Her eyes found the window again and she looked at the stormy clouds. She forced herself to concentrate on the sounds which came from outside. This simple act made a headache appear, a constant throb inside her head. It did not stop the Muggle-born though. But it did prove more difficult than she had anticipated. Yet after several minutes she finally began to discern the rolling waves of the sea from her own breathing, thereafter she noticed the screams of seagulls from far away. The rolling roar of the sea was what made her smile.

The stairs groaned under a new weight and caused Hermione to lose her connection with the waves. This weight could not be from Fleur, since the woman did not pound with her feet like that and thereby came the fact that Hermione knew Fleur had not gone up or down the stairs, she had merely gone to another room on the same floor. The new person walked over the landing and then halted. A low, though still slightly boyish, voice murmured - which she recognized as Ron's voice - and was followed by a softer voice - Fleur's. Hermione could not hear what they said, even though she strained her ears. All the while she stared at the open door of her room. Not long and their voices disappeared, shortly after Ron appeared in the doorway.

His red hair stood up in every direction, his nose was red and with him, he brought cold, fresh air in the room. He came from outside. Hermione envied him.

Ron did not move from his spot for a few seconds, a peculiar expression on his face, one that Hermione could not pinpoint. Then the biggest grin she had ever seen on his face broke through all the seriousness. He walked towards, with a certain way about him, and that was when she knew that this would become awkward between them, that she would feel uncomfortable with him sitting on the chair which Fleur had occupied earlier.

It was at this moment that she noticed how her emotions were kind of attenuated. For the awkwardness did not come. It was rather that she _knew_ that her emotions were too shallow than that she could _feel_ it.

Knowing this she would normally have felt panic creep settle inside her, for, unbeknownst to herself, something had been done to her. But now the panic barely even awakened inside her being. She deduced that Fleur had given her more than only a diluted Healing Potion and a hormone stabiliser. The stupid thing was... She could not even become angry, not now at least.

Ron brought her back from her musings as he took her hand in his. His hands were cold too, Hermione noted. His smile was still evident. "Hermione..." He took in a shuddering breath, blinked, looked away and back again. "I... I am so bloody happy that you are here. That bitch didn't truly get to you. She didn't _break_ you."

_She did not get to you._

Hermione's eyes widened slightly at these words. How wrong he was. "Yeah... I am here." Did she sound convincing? The Muggle-born doubted it, but she did not care enough.

She had to change the subject, "Where is Harry? How is he?"

Ron seemed hurt at her question, "He's outside for a bit longer..."

They stayed silent for a while after that, but neither one was deep in thoughts.

She was the first to break it, "We probably look like an old married couple this way." And she got the desired response. A smile at her awkward joke. It gave her the chance to slip her hand from his, for he had kept it tight in his grip all this time. But she had not wanted it, she did not want anything like this. Why was he here, could not he just stay with Harry? She could not take all this attention, not from him. He wanted too much from her.

An uncomfortable nervousness wanted to grasp her around the throat, but the drugs still swam in her veins. The feeling that everything was something abstract - herself included - returned. Was it his words, or just a coincidence? Strange colour combinations danced around the edges of her vision. His lips moved, but she did not hear any of his words. The sound of her blood rushing through her veins was all she could hear and it drowned out the sounds of the world around her.

Hermione gestured towards her left, 'bucket' was all she managed to murmur. She did not think Ron would be fast enough.

As she vomited she hung to the left, for she had tried to lunge towards the bucket herself. One arm gripped the nightstand tightly to keep herself upright and with the other she tried to keep her curls away, but probably failed. To her surprise she felt the same hands help her with her hair - no, it was one hand. Through a watery sight, Hermione saw that Fleur held the bucket with her other hand. Vaguely, as if from a great distance, she registered the sound of shushing French words.

After her last retch, Hermione hung her head. A tremble went through her body. Fleur helped her back on the bed. This time Hermione picked up the cloth herself and wiped her mouth, whilst her hand trembled like crazy. Fleur could not hide the concern in her eyes, thus she busied herself with gathering the fallen clothes from the floor. The ones she had chosen for Hermione to wear.

"Ronald, I think eet is best that you go back to 'Arry," she said while she dusted off the clothes.

Ron looked down at his own fidgety hands, nodded and stood up. "Please get well soon, 'Mione."

"Ron." Her voice was firm, even if it was barely above a whisper. Her displeasure was evident.

"Er, sorry, 'Hermione'. Just used to the nickname..." He got a blush on his cheeks and looked in a shy manner at the young woman. But she had her eyes closed and just laid motionless on the mattress. If she had not been breathing he would have thought she was dead, for she had lost the little colour which had previously been on her cheeks.

"I never liked it, which I have told you a hundred times."

"Yeah, you did." Despite the biting words Ron smiled, for this was a glimmer of the old Hermione. Could this mean that everything would be alright? He needed the answer to be 'yes'.

Suddenly he looked over at Fleur, she had draped the clean clothes over the footboard of the bed and currently looked pointedly at him.

"Right..." He mumbled and began to walk to the door, but then he remembered something and turned around. "Do you think you will be alright to come down in a bit? When the grave is ready?"

Closed eyes shot open, light brown eyes looked bewildered. "The grave? What...? Who?" Hermione was shocked, his words slammed into her blurry mind. Made a hysteric panic settle in the depths of the fog, still, it could not truly rise. Later that day Hermione would be grateful to Fleur's foresight.

All she managed now were mere whispers, whilst the panic wanted her to scream. "Ron, what has happened?" She had to move for she wanted to stand up and go downstairs, she needed to be with Harry. The pain had to be ignored. She tensed her muscles, but two hands on her shoulders kept her to the bed.

"Non! Go downstairs, Ronald! I told you that she ees still weak. Not another word!" Fleur snapped at the boy. Her demanding voice made any response from Ron impossible. Hermione tried to struggle, but Fleur did not let her. The quarter-Veela turned all her attention to the younger woman, " _'Ermione, please, listen to me, lay back down. You just vomited and what if you damage your ribs enough to break them again?"_ Yet she knew better than to wait for sense to kick into Hermione's current state of mind. She reached in one of the pockets of her wool cardigan and emerged with a Sleep Draught - a weak variant on the Dreamless Sleep Draught. The French woman held the younger one's jaw firmly in one hand, pulled the cork out with her teeth and before Hermione could protest she had a dose slip through her throat.

Within seconds sleep came to her. All she could think of was how damned fast Fleur could be. _Bet it is her Veela heritage..._

* * *

Ron watched the interaction, sadness the only emotion which was evident in his eyes.

Now Hermione laid peacefully on the mattress, her curls spread over the cushion. For Ron, it was a beautiful view, but Fleur's hostile presence made him walk out of the room. Once in the doorpost he halted and looked back, "Did you just talk in French to Hermione?" It had taken him to this long to realise.

"Yes, 'Ermione 'as a good understanding of my mother tongue." The quarter-Veela really wanted him out of the room, her tone was as icy and hostile.

He had to know one last thing though, "Where is my brother?"

"I send William to the nearest village, we know a 'erbalist who lives there."

Ron nodded and wondered if his brother was on his way back. As he descended the stairs silence enveloped him back into its arms. And, at this moment, he hated the silence. It had only been broken by visiting Hermione, something about that girl made sounds return. At least to him.

Now it was just silence and him, again. Since the moment they had come silence was all there was. Harry had not said a _single_ word, he had not even nodded or shaken his head. Harry had not given any acknowledgement that he had heard anything, no matter what Ron had said or asked.

Ron closed the back door behind him. And stood still for a moment. Here, in the dunes, the wind was rough and wild. The difference between the wind of the forests and meadows compared to this was easily detectable. Here it had free reign, it could speed up and slow down without obstacles to worry about. The worst was that the wind could pick up the smallest of sand grains and torture its guests with it. If people would _try_ and enjoy a stroll beside the ocean, then they would not even be allowed to _see. Because of all the bloody sand grains flying in my damned eyes._

He muttered darkly to himself. Ron began to wallow in his dislike for the silence, but also for this place. And they had not even been here that long.

While he grumbled about everything which was against him in his life he began to walk to where he saw Harry ploughing. Dean simply watched. Ron took a spot next to him whilst he still grumbled. But soon he too fell silent.

It was at this moment that Harry spoke for the first time since they had arrived, though he did not stop digging, nor did he look up. His voice was clear however, his worry evident. "How's Hermione?"

These were his first words. Not even a simple 'How are you, mate?' followed.

It hurt, just as Hermione's enquiry about Harry had hurt him. Something had significantly changed between the three of them ever since Ron had stalked off in anger during their camping. He had felt it ever since he had returned to them, it lingered in the shadows, but it had never been as evident as today. They had never rubbed it in his face like this.

He did his best to keep his bitterness to himself, "Better. Fleur's looking after her."

Had his behaviour really caused this much damage? Ron wanted to mend their friendship. Thus even though the grave could easily be made with magic, he jumped beside Harry and began to help. Dean followed suit. And the three of them shovelled the earth away. In silence. Ron despaired that this day would be a horribly long day with only silence, he gave up on trying to break it.

* * *

She filled her lungs with the fresh air. Inhaled as deeply as she could and closed her eyes briefly as she did. Her lungs and throat prickled, it felt as if she had a cough coming, but there was none. Her whole body was just oversensitive. To everything.

Hermione wrapped Fleur's cardigan closer around her body for warmth, she wanted to disappear in it. She could mostly walk on her own strength, but every cell hurt. The Skele-Gro William had brought back from the herbalist had worked for as far as they could tell, but it had made her bones even more painful. In particular her ribs. It was currently the worst of her pains, yet here she stood upright, moving about ever so slowly. Overcoming it all.

The quarter-Veela walked close to her, but she did not support her. She understood Hermione's desire to function on her own. Still, she kept a close eye on her. Something which was plainly visible for everyone. It made Hermione feel like a vulnerable person, one whose lifetime exceeded far above the 80 years old.

And it was not for nothing. A growing dizziness made Hermione grab onto the French woman despite herself. Together they covered the last metres to where the grave was dug. She held onto Fleur's arm with two hands. At first with a death grip, but a soft squeeze of Fleur's hand on her own made Hermione realize that she hurt her. As an automatism, Hermione let go completely and apologized. Fleur just looked forward with a barely visible smile, shook her head as if she did not understand Hermione one bit and hooked their arms together.

This puzzled Hermione for a bit. What exactly made the French woman smile?

Fleur had warned her about the possible consequences which this exercise could cause. However, a well-known part of Hermione's personality was how stubborn she could be and this had not changed since Malfoy Manor. _Which could be considered as entertaining, I suppose_ , pondered the younger woman, _in a very foolish way_.

Everyone had gathered around the grave. It felt as if in their tiny circle, so far from 'the real and very dangerous world', time truly stood still. The seagulls and other birds had gone; they had fled before the storm would hit the shore. And the storm itself raged still above the sea and was very close, yet it seemed willing to grant them a moment of respite for their small ceremony. With only the growl of the sea forever in the background.

Dobby the house-Elf. A being they were about to give back to the Earth. His soul long since left his body and Hermione had not even been there - conscious - to help. Harry held his tiny friend securely in his arms. Tears welled up in her eyes. _This is so unfair..._

He had risked his life for them... And it had been brutally taken. Dobby was their saviour.

Hermione did not know the story yet, but she did not need it to know that he had been extremely brave, loyal and daring. He had dared to be a free Elf; he had dared to save them from his former masters. The Muggle-born had great respect for him.

The notion that he had known where they had been was ridiculous, yet it would all make sense, there was a reason for it. Hermione was certain of it. There was a reason for everything and Harry would tell her every single detail, she would force him if she had to.

With the help of Luna and Dean, Harry was able to make it seem as if Dobby was in a peaceful sleep.

It was the first time Hermione saw Harry since she had awoken here in Shell Cottage. He looked physically beaten, yet he had not a single bruise on his skin. The Muggle-born did not need any words from him to know how he currently felt, they had been through too much together. To her, Harry looked as if he felt like he had to carry the weight of the world. All the while he tried to hold on to the last strings which attached him to the ones he loved dearly, the ones that still lived on this damned earth.

She wanted to drag him into her arms and hold him tight, to let his sobs complete her tears. Yet she did not. Something kept her from doing so. Harry could be hard to understand at times. And yet, at the same time, he was the one person she understood best of all. She was not certain if he would appreciate the gesture or would only want to be left alone. Thus she let the moment go.

As Luna spoke her thoughtful words, Hermione could not hold back her sobs. Her sadness was too heavy even for the potion from earlier to keep it at bay. With one hand she pulled the gown even closer to her body and with the other she covered her mouth, to soften the sounds. This was not how she had wanted to salute the house-Elf, yet she could not stop the tears.

To her surprise an arm was draped around her shoulders, she tensed under the weight. Which did not go unnoticed, for the owner of the arm grew hesitant. Still, the arm stayed on her shoulders. Ron even squeezed her shoulders lightly as a comforting gesture. Hermione did not want this.

Her words were mere whispers, only loud enough for the two people beside her, but the message was clear, "Ron, please. Don't do this." She leaned to her right, away from him and nearer to Fleur. Whose arm snuggled around Hermione's waist to pull her slightly farther away.

Ron looked perplexed, but he did as she asked. Slowly he withdrew his arm. A look of embarrassment and hurt replaced the previous expression on his face. He swallowed whatever words he had wanted to say and turned all his attention back to Dobby's ceremony.

The people around Hermione began to thank Dobby's body for what he had done. Fleur and William both kept silent, but their features showed nothing but respect for the small creature. They did not know what had happened, all Harry had shared with them was that the Elf had done great things and that was enough for them.

Harry was the one to magically fill the grave. His shoulders slumped afterwards. Hermione's tears had stopped some time ago, there was too little fluid left in her body for more. They had cleared her head nonetheless. She saw her best friend with clarity. And even with his back turned towards her she saw his desperate wish to be alone, it was visible in every movement he made. It was the least she could do, even though she wanted to stay with him. Sometimes one had to give the other space.

Thus when Fleur tugged Hermione gently back towards the Cottage she let herself be led. The arm still securely around her waist, it was a warmth the Muggle-born greatly appreciated.

It was a struggle to ascend the stairs, but Hermione was able to do it all by herself. With Fleur behind her, in case she would lose her footing and fall backwards. Once they arrived on the floor of her room she had used all her energy reserves. With one hand on the wall at all times, she made her way to her bed and sat down gingerly, as if the bed would splinter to pieces at simplest of touches.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on her ragged breathing, all in order to try and regulate it. After a minute she spoke, " _Fleur, how late is it?"_

 _"It is almost 11 o'clock in the morning,"_ Fleur said, mindlessly busying herself with the trinkets scattered in the room.

" _When did we arrive?"_

The answer to this question took a bit longer, " _I believe we brought you in around 3 am? Is there a reason why you want to know this?"_

_"No, not really... Should there be?"_

_"I suppose not?"_

_"But...?"_

_"Nothing, my dear."_

Hermione hummed sarcastically, she did not believe Fleur's last reply, but she could hardly force her to anything. This caused a grin to split the quarter-Veela's sad demeanour, " _You don't believe me, 'Ermione?"_ Her eyes held a teasing spark within them as she looked over her shoulder at the younger woman.

" _No,"_ Hermione opened her eyes and smiled as blue and brown connected, " _not at all."_

It felt weird, to be teasing and smiling so shortly after Dobby's burial, but somehow it was possible between the two of them. Still, their joy _was_ dampened.

Hermione's eyes travelled downwards, to the floorboards. She wanted to sleep, but fear for what would happen when her subconscious would be given free rein... The fear could keep her awake for hours to come.

What would she have to _relive_?

The mattress caved in on her right, Fleur had sat down next to her, another flask in the palms of her hands.

" _Please tell me that is a Dreamless Sleep Draught?"_

_"Correct, ten points to Gryffindor."_

_"You are the worst,"_ Hermione bumped their shoulders against one another, ignoring the pain it caused in her bones and down her spine.

 _"My dear, I am not joking,"_ Fleur's smile was gentle. _"Though I cannot give you the house points."_

Hermione was silent for a moment in which she looked from the flask to Fleur, back to the flask and at last her eyes stayed on the woman beside her. For a few seconds she tried to convey all the gratitude she felt through her gaze, then she turned her head slightly downward, to hide her embarrassed smile.

The quarter-Veela stood up and said softly, " _You need to rest, your body needs it."_

A glass of water had been on her nightstand all this time and Hermione watched as Fleur let a generous amount of the draught drip in it.

The younger woman shuffled under the blanket, during which the older one closed the curtains.

When the Muggle-born drank all of the fluid it was only a matter of seconds before everything faded away, the last thing she heard was a soft, "Bonne nuit, 'Ermione."

* * *

At first, it did not make much of a difference whether her eyes were open or closed. Yet she kept blinking, in the hope that her eyes would accommodate to the darkness of the room. After a minute or two, Hermione was able to discern furniture from the walls and floor.

Her whole body was stiff, in every movement she felt how sore her muscles were. Then she felt how badly she needed a toilet, she needed it _now_.

Without a care for her attire, Hermione stumbled out of the bed and as she made her way to the bathroom she leaned on everything in her path. From her nightstand to Fleur's chair and from there to the table, the doorpost came thereafter, the wall and the bathroom door were her last supports. A few steps on her very own strength and then she finally sat down.

A sigh of relief.

As she lessened her burden, she grew aware of the fact how relatively normal her body felt. All this sleep had done her good. Hope blossomed inside her. Yet her rational thoughts echoed in the depths of her mind, telling her she should not truly believe she was healthy once more.

The feeling of hope made her notice how pure her emotions felt, there was no drug to keep them in check. One would describe the notion as a freeing one, yet Hermione still felt caged. She had been here, hidden away for how long? The thought startled her, for she did not know how long she had slept.

Hermione finished her business and washed her hands and face. When she looked up in the mirror, a moment which only consisted of a few seconds, she saw a ghostly white face, matted and messy curls and tired eyes with dark circles which made her look all the paler. How was the latter even possible after the amount of sleep she must have had? For all she knew she had slept for days on end.

Slowly she made her way back to her room, this time she used as little objects for support as possible. At first, she was a bit unstable, but soon the dizziness disappeared and all which remained were sour muscles and ribs.

Hermione casted a wandless Lumos, but even its soft light was harsh to her eyes. It took a long time for her to get accustomed to the difference. Once they did she could see the fresh clothes Fleur had laid on the table and picked them up, her mind was immediately set on revisiting the bathroom. She made the Lumos follow her as she walked tentatively, afraid to wake someone, but once under the warm water of the shower, she was able to relax somewhat and cleaned herself thoroughly.

Fleur had left Hermione a comfortable Muggle attire. One that consisted of a woollen grey sweater, a long-sleeved black shirt, and slightly worn - and therefore comfortable - dark trousers. And to top it off, she had a pair of thick socks and her own boots on her feet.

She felt secure and warm in these clothes, they were not the perfect size - the quarter-Veela was indeed taller and had more bust - but that mattered nothing to her. She liked to wear clothes slightly bigger on homey days anyway, Harry had caught her in one of his sweaters or shirts more often than not during their months of camping in the whole of Britain.

Freshly cleaned, fully awake and hungry the Muggle-born carefully descended the stairs, deliberately spreading her weight over the steps to keep the boards from creaking, which she had heard them do under Ron's weight. They did not make the softest of sounds.

One of the things which really bothered Hermione - to the point that it felt like a bodily pain - was the empty and wandless spot on her right forearm. Her holster contained _nothing_. Hermione mourned the loss of her wand, it felt as if she had lost the better half of herself. Of course, she could do wandless magic and this would be a perfect opportunity for her to improve her skills, but that did not mean she did not feel bereft.

 _Those horrible, demonic baboons._ Her thoughts were dark whilst she thought of the Snatchers who had taken one of her most precious possessions. In her mind, she called them every ugly, nasty word in her vocabulary.

The Muggle-born stepped into the kitchen. She dimmed her light source further. Her quest started at once; to find herself something edible. The counters of the kitchens were clean, the sink too looked spotless. On the right side of the sink stood a bowl filled with fruit. With a vegetable put between them here and there, two aubergines laid outside the bowl. Hermione could pick up an apple, but she preferred the idea of some bread.

On the left side of the sink there stood a few wooden cutting boards on the counter, which leaned against the pantry. The latter had its content hidden with a white cotton curtain. Behind which were pots and pans, dried herbs, empty and full flasks, kitchen utensils, cutlery, plates, and glasses. But nothing edible. Her eyes strayed back to the fruit bowl. But she shook her head and tried the smaller cupboards. After the second one, Hermione found a loaf of bread.

Without a second thought she summoned a knife and cutting board, she caught them in her hand and cut a few slices from the loaf. Whilst she sliced off the third and fourth she had already taken a bite from the first slice and munched on it contently.

With her treasures securely in her hand, she turned around, only to be scared to death. Without making a single sound, though, not even a surprised gasp. However, she _did_ almost drop two pieces of bread, _almost_ , for her reflexes were fast enough.

In the doorpost to the living room stood a smiling Harry. How long had he been standing there? Had he watched her this whole time, and if so why had he not said a word?

She glared at him for a moment, then started to munch anew on her second slice and offered him the other. His chuckle was the first sound between them. Shortly followed by his voice, he spoke in whispers, "Welcome back to the world of the living." Then he took the offered bread and took a bite.

"Thank you for the welcoming party," her tone was sarcastic, but her warm smile dampened the otherwise joyless words. An easy silence fell between them. In which the Muggle-born took the time to regard her dearest friend. It looked like his insomnia had returned. Underneath his eyes was all the evidence she needed; dark blue circles, even prettier than her own. Had he not slept at all?

"Do you have any plans regarding our goal?" She asked drily as if she was talking about the weather, "It is kind of obvious that you have not been able to sleep because of it."

He nodded, swallowed the food in his mouth and began to tell of his plan. All the while he walked to the counter and cut off another piece of bread, one for Hermione and one for himself. "I think we should talk to Griphook about Gringotts. And Ollivander as well. Because Bellatrix gave us unwittingly some useful information." He took a bite.

During which Hermione nodded and finished his story, "Yes, God knows if she was aware of it or not, either way, she told us there is something else there, something important to..." She did not bother to finish her sentence.

Harry nodded and smiled, he had known she would immediately pick up on where he had left. "And I believe that Griphook will help us get there."

The Muggle-born snorted while she chewed. Then she swallowed and said, "You do realise that you are talking about a Goblin? Which are, in case you have forgotten, and always have been at odds - or worse, at _war_ \- with wizards and witches."

He nodded but stayed silent this time. The fact that Griphook was a Goblin had, of course, occurred to him. And that had been one of the things to keep him from his sleep. How were they to persuade a Goblin to help them break into the _one place_ \- Gringotts - that gave them power _over_ wizarding kind? Both teenagers thought of the same until Hermione broke their train of thoughts with her whispers.

"How did Dobby die, Harry? You were covered in his blood..."

Green eyes found hers. She could see his jaw muscles tense and she knew from this change in demeanour that he did not like the current subject. Fortunately, the gloomy glimmer in his eyes was replaced by understanding within a few seconds. He relaxed ever so slightly as he sighed heavily.

Could she reach out to him now, would he shy away from her touch?

Hermione stayed where she was, she leaned with her hip against the counter, with her body turned towards Harry, who had mirrored her position after he had cut the last bread slices.

The young man reached into the pocket of his trousers and fished therefrom a knife of which the blade was sheathed in a makeshift scabbard. The metal of the handle practically shined in her Lumos' light. It was a well-polished silver, she would not even be surprised if it proved to be made of white gold. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she took a closer look. There, clutched in Harry's hand, laid the instrument with which the insult had been carved in the flesh of her left forearm. And, even worse, it had been used to take Dobby's life. Probably with the intention to take one of the humans instead, but that did not make any difference.

The curls on the handle brought shivers to her spine, for she associated curls with gentleness, softness, and innocence. This object, on the other hand, gave the decoration a deathly and ominous vibe.

With trembling fingers, the Muggle-born reached for the knife in Harry's outstretched hand. She held the weapon closer to the light and rotated it, which caused shadows to dance in and around the engraved decoration. The object felt very different than any other Hermione had ever held in her hands, for it was heavy with dark enchantments, yet it was charmed to be light.

After an endless amount of silent observation, she turned her eyes back to Harry and said, "I do wonder, how long did I sleep? What day is it?"

Harry was startled by her question, he had been looking out the window above the sink, deep in thoughts. He blinked a few times, ran his hand through his messy hair as he furrowed his eyebrows. "I believe I heard the toilet flush around a quarter for five. And I suspect it was you, right?" Hermione nodded. "Fleur told me you went to bed almost right after the burial, which was 11 o'clock, so... you slept for about 18 hours?"

She hummed, that was not as long as she had thought. Not that it mattered, for she still felt fresh and as healthy as one could feel after being tortured.

Harry broke through her thoughts, "Shall we take a walk? I am a bit desperate to stretch my legs..." He was silent for a moment and so was Hermione, for she saw that he wanted to say more and waited for him to continue, but he was hesitant. "Is it just me, or... Do you find it difficult to be in a house, instead of our own tent?"

She thought about it for a moment. Then she nodded, ever so slightly, almost as if acknowledging it would worsen the feeling. "Yeah, I understand what you mean... Though I haven't been awake for long enough to be bothered by it, yet."

Harry nodded absentmindedly and looked out the window again. He cleared his throat and began to move to the hall that led to the front door, "Right, let's go for a walk."

"What about Ron?" Hermione said while she put the loaf of bread back in its cupboard.

"What about him?"

"I think he will be angry if he later finds out that we did not ask him to join us."

Harry halted in the process of putting on his jacket to look intently at her. In moments like these, the duo communicated without saying a single word. They did not do it on purpose, it just happened. It was like a second nature, almost. Something had changed during the period that it had been just the two of them, not in one day, but over time. And it had brought them closer together.

It was not as if Harry and she had endless amounts of silent conversations, not yet anyway. All which they did was observe in what kind of mood the other was, not a mood they pretended to be. This also granted them to discern what the other's opinion truly was about the subject or situation they were confronted with.

Ron had been aware of the change, though had not been able to figure out what it was precisely. Whenever Harry and Hermione communicated without their voices it annoyed him terribly because he knew something was going on, and he felt excluded. Which, truth be told, he was.

Harry put his jacket on one of the kitchen chairs, and murmured, "Yeah, you are probably right." A last glance at Hermione, a deep sigh and he turned around to slowly and softly walk back into the living room, in the hope to not wake Dean.

* * *

The wind was rough; the last reminder of the storm that had raged above this part of the country only a few hours ago. It made Hermione's spirits lighten up. The invisible fingers ran through her hair and tussled her curls in every direction. And so it did with Harry's and Ron's hair, even though theirs was far shorter. For a passerby, it could look like three wildfires: red, black and brown.

The wind was not the only one of nature's beauties to greet them. For as they neared the pine forest, which was settled not too far from the Cottage further away from the sea, the first bird songs began to swirl around them. The screams of the Seagulls were behind them, they could barely be heard from where the trio walked.

As they came more inland Hermione recognized a Blackbird's song at once, and she thought she heard a Wren as well. The trio mostly walked in silence, their long friendship made sure no awkwardness was between them.

"Hermione," Harry's voice carried concern, something which made her baulk at once, ever so slightly. "I know you don't want to hear this, but you seem to grow stiffer after each hillock walk over..."

"Harry, I feel fine, don't worry." This was not the time Hermione wanted to be enveloped by her friend's concern. She wanted to be able to enjoy this stroll, after being held inside a house for far too long.

"No, you don't, 'Mione," said Ron in a tone that would not tolerate any form of contradiction.

This annoyed Hermione greatly, both his attitude and the damned nickname, she shot him one of her deadliest glares, "Stop it with that stupid nickname of yours!" She snapped and turned furiously around and continued to walk up the dune, to demonstrate how capable she was of this walk.

Maybe the boys were right, maybe Hermione did grow stiffer every few minutes and maybe her body did begin to protest. But she would not listen, she could not... She had to be better, they needed to get on with their search for Horcruxes. There was no time to be ill and weak.

Despite this believe, small pains started to settle in the whole of her being. Dizziness came over her whenever she reached the top of a dune; a headache had begun to throb continuously inside her head, and it gradually grew worse, as did the stiffness; and then there was her breathing, her ribs started to protest, though at the moment she could ignore it over the other pains, yet it was a bad omen nonetheless.

That did not mean she would allow herself to acknowledge them, and in her desperation, she mentally threw her better judgment into the wind. She despised to be the weakest. All she wanted was to walk around and enjoy nature, for as long as they were granted this luxury anyway.

Hermione had always been stubborn and still would be, even now, the option to just keep on walking was something she was willing to choose. No matter what the consequences could be. Yet she could not set a step further, for a hand had grabbed her by the arm and held her in place.

When she looked at Harry with disbelief and annoyance on her face, she saw his concern and bit on her sharp tongue. She swallowed the words she had wanted to throw at her best friend and instead sighed.

There was no point in pretending that she felt fine. They had known her for far too long, she would not be able to fool them, and, to be honest, even a complete stranger could tell that she suffered. If they would walk another kilometre she would probably look like a cripple old lady.

The Muggle-born ran a hand through her hair and asked defeatedly what they wanted to do.

"Let's take a break," Ron suggested. "I am still tired, it's so early."

Harry nodded and pointed to a spot on the top of the dune where an old tree was rooted, yet there were enough sunny spots underneath it to warm up in.

Ron laid down, clearly exhausted from the little sleep, early awakening and the walk. He closed his eyes and within ten minutes his snores filled the air. Luckily, the birds were able to drown him out at times.

Meanwhile, Hermione looked out over the landscape, far in the distance she could see the chimneys and the smoke from Shell Cottage. They had probably walked for an hour, or maybe it was 45 minutes. She had not been often to the beach and dunes in her life. And honestly she had not missed it, there was nothing in landscapes like these that got her romantic heart beating faster. She preferred the deciduous woodlands and meadows.

Above her head something rustled, when she looked up she saw that Harry had climbed into the tree. Why he had climbed in it she would not know for sure, but she suspected he wanted to recreate the feeling of sitting on a broom and being high up in the sky.

"Hello there," she mumbled and smiled. He smiled back, then closed his eyes while he tried to become one with the swaying of the pine tree's branch, which did not look like an easy feat.

Hermione sat down fully in the sun, the shadows were too cold for her liking. Which was only logical, since it was still early in the morning.

She thought back to the story Harry and Ron had told her. Now that they were alone, without anybody who could eavesdrop on them, the two had told her all that had happened since the moment Harry and Ron had been dragged from the room in which Hermione had been tortured in Malfoy Manor.

Dobby had truly saved their lives... He had helped - no, rescued - them without a single doubt, nor any questions asked, something only a few would have done. She desperately wanted to do something for him, but what? What could one do for someone who had left for the afterlife?

A sadness overtook Hermione. It made her throat tighten, she blinked her eyes furiously, willing the tears away.

Still, a certain thought stayed in her head and probably would for the rest of her life. _What would have happened if he had not arrived in time? Or had chosen to save himself?_

The young woman tried to focus on the bird songs and while she listened she was reminded of one of Luna's melodies.

Over the years she had heard Luna sing and hum several different lullabies, all had been new to the Muggle-born. And since she had not known them she had asked the Ravenclaw who the composers were, only to receive a sly smile in return and another lullaby to tease her curiosity further.

At some point, Hermione had begun to hum them as well, first without being aware of it, but once Ginny had pointed it out to her, there was no escaping from the fact that she truly liked them. She hummed them whenever solitude was too heavy or whenever she was scared or nervous. And often when Luna sang them herself Hermione did not make a sound and listened intently, not even pretending otherwise.

But she did not trust her current state to be able to sing correctly. Thus, it was up to the birds to calm her nerves. For, only now, was she able to see and acknowledge that the state of her health would only worsen, she had pushed herself too far.

The moment Ron awakened the trio began to walk back to the Cottage. While Ron had slept, Harry and Hermione had looked at the landscape before them and had come up with a path that would bring them faster to Shell Cottage. At first, he had protested, afraid that they would get lost, but in the end, Ron gave in. Though the walk back was a bit frosty.

And now that they did not walk over a regular path the trio had to watch out where they set their feet, something Hermione should have realized but had not. It made her stiff body only stiffer.

The pains had not gone away during their break, but neither had they worsened. Now that they walked again the pains did grow heavier. Hermione knew Harry held a close eye on her and she suspected that Ron did as well, even though he was still cross. She did her best to act as if everything was fine, but she felt far from it.

When they passed a certain tree - one that had likely once been one of the largest pine trees in this forest, but which had been reduced to a dead and broken trunk by a storm a long time ago - Hermione knew they were relatively close to the Cottage, which she was thankful of. For a light sheen of cold sweat covered the whole of her body, made her clothes stick to her body, and all her muscles ached. The pain was awfully similar to the Cruciatus Curse, only it was less intense and there was no one to use their hatred or anger to fire it up with. Her headache too had become more prominent, not to mention the sensitive spot on her ribs which certainly had begun to feel more like a burning throb.

As a result, she stumbled over even the smallest unseen stones. Every time she desperately grabbed a nearby tree or Harry, if he were close, for support.

After a few times of almost falling Harry and Ron had both offered their help but she had refused their services stubbornly. Because there was no way she would be helped, not again, she just wanted to be healthy again.

Her headache did more than only cause pain, it made her rational mind waver.

 _Is it just me or is it terribly warm for a Spring day?_ She tried to sound jolly when she said this aloud, "Warm, isn't it?" But she was not certain if she succeeded, for her boys did not smile, all she got was two worried faces and one hesitant 'yeah, real hot' from Ron.

The trees around them thinned, they became younger, and the numbers lessened. They were on the edge of the dune's woodland, probably not even a kilometre away from Shell Cottage anymore. A surge of hope went through her body; she could make it, right? Her mind tried to form correct thoughts, but it did not succeed, for illness had nestled inside her and corrupted everything.

Her legs became shaky, but Hermione did not notice. For the familiar nausea had returned, it made her stomach turn round and round inside her. A pearl of sweat trailed down her face to her jawline, from there it travelled to her chin and dropped to the ground.

Suddenly there happened something she would never have thought possible.

Hermione had not anticipated that one of the few trees would try - and succeed - to grab her by her ankle with one of its roots. She was not quick enough to sidestep out of its reach. She fell on her hands and knees. And like one the trees around her started to laugh, though melodious, without any sort emotion in it. One dark shadow, no two, were at either side of her at once. They towered over her, grew closer, touched, but with every motion, Hermione grew more scared of them. Noises reached her, but they did not make any sense. Before she was aware of what happened, she vomited the content of her stomach on the ground. Which was only a little, the few slices of bread from that morning being the only food she had eaten in the past few days. Bile and phlegm followed. Her arms were wrapped around her belly, in the hope to stop the cramps that accompanied each retch.

The retching lessened as bodily fluid became scarce. She tried to look up to one of the shadows, to tell them to back the fuck off, but it felt as if her head rolled right off from her shoulders. Hermione's vision had completely darkened.

* * *

Harry held his dearest friend close and away from the vomit. He looked at Ron, who was crouched at her other side. "Come on, let's get her to the Cottage," Harry said, his voice resolute. Though from the inside he was anything but. Chaos and most of all concern and fear for Hermione's wellbeing filled him to the brim. _What has just happened?!_

Harry and Ron were utterly shocked and scared. The collapse of Hermione had not been something they had anticipated for, not so close to their destination. The extreme downfall of Hermione's health had happened in such a scarily short amount of time. It left them unprepared. They handled the situation as best they could.

They carried her the whole way back to Shell Cottage, neither one had clear minds to think of a levitation spell. Each with one of her arms wrapped around their shoulders and Harry held her waist steady.

From the place of Hermione's collapse they had already been able to see the Cottage clearly in the distance, but now it truly was not that far anymore. Harry said as much and repeated it louder, in the hope that Hermione would hear him. He looked down at her, but her head lolled up and down with every step they took. _Fuck, s_ _he is unconscious._

Panic burned his hopes to ashes.

Ron murmured every single insult to Merlin he could think of. Everything seemed to go wrong lately, and there was no one better to blame than bloody fucking Merlin himself.

Shell Cottage had never seemed so overwhelmingly mighty and safe. Not that they had seen it too often, but as they truly neared it - only a small fifty metres away from the front door - they felt hope return to them despite everything. Maybe Hermione could still be healed.

Almost at the same time the front door slammed open and through it rushed a slender figure. One with silver blonde hair that danced and twirled in the air and around her face. A face that showed the angriest dark blue eyes both Harry and Ron had ever seen. And she was closely followed by her husband, who did not look pleased either.


	3. Lets Conquer the World

Their relieve was almost palpable in the air, for help came their way, but it was there for just a split-second. Since it disappeared the moment they saw how angry the quarter-Veela was. They did not set a step further, their instinct made them halt, but neither would they run away, for Hermione needed Fleur's care.

"'On a walk, will be back soon'," the French woman recited, sharp sarcasm punctuated each word. "What were you thinking?! I was sick with worry!" She had clearly more to say on the subject, but the moment she saw that Hermione was not merely leaning against her friends but actually unconscious in their arms, her anger was replaced by a horrified expression. "Merdre! William, tend to the boys."

Fleur brandished her wand from its holster and levitated the younger woman carefully; she had been taught that one should never carelessly levitate an unconscious magical being, one had to do it with the utmost care. For they were difficult to navigate since their magic was no longer under their conscious' control. The unconscious person's magic could lash out, disturb or block any other form of unfamiliar magic. And when one levitated an unconscious being it was not favourable to have their magic disturbed, since that was likely to bring even more injury to the body.

Despite the risk, Fleur and Hermione were gone into the house in the blink of an eye.

Harry watched them disappear before he met William's eyes. His red hair was in a messy ponytail and his eyes were angry, though the worry dulled it a little. Luna appeared in the doorpost of the Cottage, she had a small, relieved smile on her features. Then she turned around and went back inside.

The oldest Weasley rubbed his face roughly with his hands, grunted out his frustration, then he led the way inside.

When Ron closed the door behind them his brother spoke for the first time. "Where have you been, for Merlin's sake?" William's blood boiled, even though he clearly tried to sustain it. The werewolf DNA probably made it more difficult.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Fleur's rushed reappearance halfway down the stairs cut it short, "When and 'ow did 'Ermione fall unconscious? Don't forget to mention a single detail." She demanded in a harsh voice, her eyes in determined concentration.

The two, though mostly Harry, told everything that they had seen happening to their friend. And how Hermione had refused any form of help from them. The quarter-Veela listened intently and nodded at certain parts of the story as if she checked a mental list of what could ail the Muggle-born. All the while she had a dark look still in her eyes and a frown on her face.

At the end of their story, Fleur gave her husband instructions to get several herbs from the pantry in the kitchen and rushed back up the stairs, to tend to Hermione.

The scarred man did as he was asked, but took Harry and Ron with him in the process. They would not escape from his questions this time. He would bombard them with everything that had nagged his mind since the moment they had appeared on his doorstep the other night.

"Tell me where the bloody fuck you have been, now." His voice was not as dark as it had been when he asked it for the first time, but his words were still spoken with a sharp edge to them. He looked at the two, who did not make any noise, whilst his hands blindly grabbed what his wife needed.

His eyes glimmered with something which made him look older, like he was no longer merely Ron's older brother, but instead, a man that carried the responsibility of keeping his family safe and well-fed in times of great danger and poverty. Which, Harry realized in embarrassment, were both true.

There was also disappointment in his features. He let a big sigh escape from between his tight lips, gazed at the herbs in his hands to inspect if they were truly the ones Fleur needed - no, he still missed Elf-Earroot. "Look... What I want to..." Another sigh left him as he rummaged in the pantry. "Did you actually think about the consequences of your absence? We were about to start a search party. We did not know where you had gone and when you would return, _if_ you would actually return."

They ascended the stairs, and as Harry and Ron listened they were forced to realize what the situation had looked like for the others. They could have been found by wrongdoers and abducted during their walk, they could have died at the hand of Death Eaters. And Hermione _did_ get ill again, which was one of the worst-case scenarios to come true.

Harry sighed, his shoulders sloughed under the pressure of even more stress and responsibility. It was hard, after months of not having to be accountable to anyone but the three - and for half of the time, two - of them, to suddenly have to tell and ask permission for everything they did.

"I... We..." What should he say? He looked over at Ron, who looked tormented, then he shrugged helplessly before he lowered his eyes to inspect his own feet. Harry looked back at William, he would not hide from the well-deserved anger.

"I am sorry; we should have known better." Was that really all he could do, say that he was sorry? _Pathetic_. "We did not even go that far, really. Maybe 3 or 4 kilometres?"

William's anger simmered in his eyes again, "Harry, I understand that you want to make things better. But -" He halted his words, walked into the room to give Fleur the herbs and returned to them at once. He motioned to them to go downstairs again, "- when you came here we placed Wards around the house, stronger ones than we already had, with a radius of _one_ kilometre. And you _know_ what the consequences could be if you go out of that space.

"Come on, boys, what were you thinking? You endangered _everybody!"_ His voice had that same edge to it, the man emitted a certain inhuman emotion as if the anger was not his own but from someone else entirely.

Harry and Ron blushed in shame, Ron still did not look up, Harry's eyes shot from one place to another, but he was able to look William in the eyes so now and then. What could he say to appease to the oldest Weasley? Nothing which came to mind would have the desired result, he was sure of this. The truth was that they simply had not thought about the consequences, at least not Harry and he doubted Ron had. Hermione on the other hand... She probably _had_ thought about it, yet it had apparently not mattered enough to her. _Or maybe I am being prejudiced_ , he realized and sighed deeply. _Hermione is just human, she can't think everything through._ And _she has been through torture, if one of us is allowed a mistake..._

Harry wished he could turn back time, not in the least for his best friend's wellbeing. But he could not.

Neither one had yet responded to William, thus Harry began half-heartedly, "I know, we did not..." He trailed off, there was nothing he could say that would not sound childish in his own ears.

"Alright, alright." The oldest Weasley rubbed his face in a rough manner again, then he continued, "I should not snap at you like that. Just... Think about it next time, okay. Think it through before you decide, on a whim, to go for a walk, with a still recovering friend." He patted Harry brotherly on the shoulder and ruffled Ron's hair in disarray. Was this his way of apologising? Harry was not sure, but the gesture did him good. "Anyway, I wanted to ask about you know... What has happened, why was Hermione in such a state the other day?"

So far both Fleur and William had not asked a thing about what, who, how and why. Harry had been happily surprised by this, glad that, for once, somebody would not ask for the information they would not get out of him anyway. Alas, this bliss was apparently not to stay.

"I... can't tell you."

"Harry, come on, we can help you. The whole Order wants to help." The oldest Weasley did not sound as confident as he had a mere moment ago, this time there was a desperate note in his voice. Harry did not like to hear his pleading, simply because he could not do anything about it. William continued, "Please, tell me. And let me help. I feel _useless_."

"Bill, you are already helping, you shelter and feed us," _while_ _Hermione needs time to recover._ There was more Harry had to say, but he was reluctant, for they were words without meaning, since their actions spoke louder this time around. Yet he said them anyway, "We got a mission from Dumbledore, a task. And I won't drag more people in the dangers of it..."

The bitter laugh that came from William did not surprise Harry, he thought it fitting for their current situation. They deserved it. He promised himself that he would never again do something without thinking twice about it.

Silence settled in the kitchen where they had been talking since they had arrived downstairs. Ron sat down noisily on a chair, his worries were written all over his face. Harry too did not feel certain about Hermione's recovery; how could someone's health deteriorate in such a fast succession?

William sighed, mumbled something about asking if Fleur needed more herbs and disappeared once again upstairs.

Harry did not wait a moment longer, he too walked out of the kitchen.

In the garden, he found Luna near Dobby's grave, gardening. She hummed whilst her hands never stopped to pick small weeds from the earth. He did not need to make a sound for her to turn and look over her shoulder. A smile appeared on her face as he walked towards her.

He felt how his mood lightened, he smiled back, but the sadness remained in his eyes. Of which Luna was aware and it prompted her to stand up. She set a step towards him to stand before Harry and said softly, "Fleur will do her utmost best."

He nodded, looked away, his eyes trained at the pine forest in the distance. It had only been half an hour at most since they had arrived back here. Yet it felt like hours to him.

"While you three were gone I visited Hermione's room, in the hope to see her, but all I found were Wrackspurts. _Everywhere_ in the room, I don't think that I am exaggerating when I say that there were about twenty swarming around. I opened the window and sat down on the chair, to watch them disappear.

"So, don't worry about those, they can't make her mind foggy and distracted anymore."

For a moment he looked Luna straight in the eyes, she was completely sincere. A grateful smile broke through his sadness momentarily. "Thank you, Luna, I really hope it will make it easier for Hermione."

She hummed and turned back around to work with the earth again. Her fingers and hands moved fluently and dexterously. Harry watched for a moment, then he crouched down beside her and asked if she would be willing to tell him which plants were considered weeds and which not. Luna complied with a ghostly smile on her lips.

* * *

Fleur felt emotionally exhausted.

For her day had started in a state of worry since the moment she had walked into the empty room of Hermione; worry which lasted until she had seen the trio in the distance through one of the windows. The sight of them had enabled anger to break through the worry as she had rushed outside. Only to be forced into a horrifying fear once more the moment she saw Hermione's state of health.

Angst which she needed to keep under control since one could not take the responsibility for another's health if their abilities were not optimal. She needed her mind to be sharp and clear of any corrupting emotions, to be able to come up with and use the correct treatment.

Thus, Fleur had steeled herself, distanced herself from her anger, but most of all she had alienated her fears and worries.

Hermione's health was almost, if not completely, back to the state she had first arrived in the day before. Except for the broken ribs, those were still healed, however, the exercise had worsened their condition nonetheless. The flesh around the healed bones was completely covered with bruises, coloured a dark blue and purple. And Hermione's breathing was irregular, but Fleur suspected that was due to the girl's rapid eye movement, which indicated the Muggle-born experienced dreams or - which was more likely in Hermione's state - nightmares.

After a thorough examination, Fleur's first hypothesis was confirmed: the Crusiatus Curse was still to blame for Hermione's current state. Whatever Hermione had gone through had affected her very core; muscles, bones - the very atoms she consisted of - all had been disturbed. They had still been in a certain 'shock' when the trio had decided to go for a walk. Which made Hermione unable to see and feel the true damage she did to herself with every step she had taken during the stroll. The curses, in all their intensity, had left her body fragile and unpredictable. At least for the following days.

The hours of sleep had probably helped with the recovery of her body, but it had naturally not been enough to completely heal itself and any recovery that had been made was completely diminished after this 'light stroll'. Thereby came the fact that the Muggle-born had not taken the hourly doses of Fleur's Healing Potion, nor any of the hormone regulator. Fleur had awakened several times that night to give the younger woman her potions. That was also what Fleur had wanted to do when she had walked into the empty room where Hermione had lain the last time Fleur had come to check on her.

Right now Fleur did everything she could regarding spells and potions. After which she transfigured her clothes which Hermione still wore into a comfortable sleeping attire.

Then, at last, she let herself sit down in the chair. A deep sigh left her body.

 _This foolishly, stubborn girl. She should have known -_ The quarter-Veela made her thoughts stop, she would only become more agitated if she let herself think like this. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. A groan was the only further indication that it was hard to dispel her annoyance, which, if truth was to be told, was born from nothing but worry.

As Fleur sat there she decided she would write a journal about Hermione's recovery path. Since she had no experience at all with the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse and what permanent damage they could do to someone. Thereby came the fact that she had never pursued her studies for Healing further besides the lessons she had gotten at Beauxbatons Academy. Something which she regretted in this instance.

Even so, she suspected there would be relatively little information about the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse, since it was an illegal act to use the Curse on any living creature. And those who did use it often disposed on their victims one way or another. Writing a journal would be the perfect way for her to fill the gaps between tending to Hermione and her own necessities - such as eating and sleeping. And it could, if done correctly, be of importance to understanding the Curse.

She sighed again, her eyes rested on the sleeping form.

The French woman saw Hermione's current state as her responsibility, she had assumed the Muggle-born to be rational enough to think twice about doing such a thing as walking through the dunes. Clearly, emotion had overruled everything in Hermione's otherwise rational mind. Fleur would not make the same foolish mistake a second time. Thus, the quarter-Veela opted she would be within this room for most of the time, at least until her patient would awaken again.

It would take longer than she anticipated.

* * *

Harry and Ron visited the room often. Luna too had often one thing or another to say or do in order to hear and look if anything had changed regarding Hermione's health. Only to leave the room in disappointment.

Dean had come once, though he merely stood in the doorpost. Awkwardly glancing between Fleur - who had been standing at the table grinding herbs in her mortar - and Hermione - who had still been unconscious. The quarter-Veela had raised one of her eyebrows at his behaviour, whilst she studied the boy in return, and unbeknownst to herself lifted her chin a tad bit higher, her body language one of arrogance. All this attention from her had made the boy blush furiously and in the end, he practically ran back downstairs.

William was with her several times that day as well, though mostly for himself, to give a voice to his growing frustration of being kept in the dark by Harry and Ron. _Why do they keep everything to themselves? We could help them. It drives me crazy_. All were lines her husband repeated frequently. To which she barely even hummed, her eyes never leaving the book or her own journal in her hands or lap.

It was not as if she did not understand his feelings, for she had the same desire to be part of this bigger task that loomed so obviously above the three adolescents. But Fleur was not one to consistently pry and ask about it. In fact, she had not asked at all, knowing all too well she would not get an answer anyway. Though she had considered asking Luna some 'innocent' questions, in the hope that the younger woman would let something slip, yet she had refrained herself. Something about her made Fleur cautious; even with all the peculiar stories the Ravenclaw told, the French woman knew Luna to be smart. One who, probably, knew more than she was letting on.

Hermione slept through all the visits and conversations. Like a hibernating hedgehog. There were no screams and no thrashing around either. All that disturbed the air in the room were periods of time in which the Muggle-born made suffocating noises. The first time this happened Fleur had jumped up, and searched for any possible cause, only to find none. And to see, to her great relief, that Hermione was not truly suffocating. The second time Fleur still jumped up and rushed to the woman's aid, but it had just been the same as the first time. Yet the third, fourth and every other time thereafter Fleur would stand beside her or sit at the edge of the bed. She would not touch Hermione, but she did sing her grand-mère's lullabies for her. Music could reach incredibly deep inside a human's being, even when they were not conscious. Whereas touching someone while they had nightmares - or dreams in general - could have very bad effects on both the sleeper and the observer. So her grand-mère had taught her.

Though these moments of suffocating noises did not happen often. In contrast to the sweat attacks which happened so regularly that Fleur had begun to worry about dehydration and had started to drip water between Hermione's lips together with the dosses of potions. She also gently wiped Hermione's face clean with a wet and cold hand towel.

When night fell over the Cottage Fleur had magiced several fireflies to fly through the room. She liked to watch them, it had a calming effect on her. She did not need them for the light, because the candles that burned in their holders around her granted her enough light for a pleasant read.

* * *

Before William went to bed he came to kiss his wife goodnight, but he paused in the doorpost. The scene before him was of such a vulnerable quality, anyone's heart would beat faster at the sight. That is, if one would not know or ignore that Hermione was in a dire state.

Fleur was nestled in her chair, her legs tugged underneath her, whilst her eyes were glued to the pages of her book. Hair which was braided in one thick long braid, with stubborn strands that cascaded playfully around the woman's face. And then there was the light that danced around the room. _She has conjured her fireflies_ , he thought in surprise. She did not do it often, usually only made them to create a romantic evening. Though he did not allow himself to feel jealous, there was no need to.

Hermione had an unguarded expression on her face, which was perfectly visible since she lay on her back with her face turned towards the light. William was also aware of the fact that his wife had moved the chair to stand directly next to the bed, which created a close proximity between the two.

But he _would not_ let his jealousy take hold. He took a deep breath and relaxed against the post.

"What ees eet that you want, mon loup?" Her eyes never wavered from the pages of her book.

"Currently nothing. Just came to kiss you goodnight, honey."

She hummed her response and, finally, after he waited a little longer she looked up to meet his eyes. He did not know why, but he needed to see her eyes on himself, to have the feeling that he was all she wanted to focus her attention on. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question, as a response he smiled his most charming smile. One that always made her blush.

At last, he walked the few metres between them, bend over and pressed his lips to hers. He caressed her cheek while he said goodnight and turned around to make himself ready for bed.

* * *

Fleur had a pile of books scattered around her chair, with several different subjects to occupy herself with through the night. She did not want to fall asleep, in case Hermione would awaken. Yet when the sun broke through the dark sky, Fleur was startled from slumber by a knock on the closed door.

As the quarter-Veela rubbed the sleep out of her eyes she softly called out, "Oui?"

Harry's head poked inside the room. "Has Hermione slept the whole night?"

The woman nodded sleepily. Then the door opened further and another head poked inside, Ron got a blush on his cheeks as he saw Fleur. Even now he still got affected by her presence.

Fleur looked at the two of them, her eyes calculating. Then they softened. At times, the two could act like such children, just as they did now; but maybe they needed that, maybe it was a necessary coping mechanism for those who had the fate of humanity weighing on their shoulders.

"I 'ave to ask something of you. Could the two of you stay 'ere for a few 'ours? I really need some sleep."

Harry nodded at once, Ron's nod followed. Both were glad to be able to do _something_ for the French woman, who had done nothing but take care of Hermione.

Fleur nodded to herself and stood up to give Hermione her dosses of potions and water. Meanwhile, she gave Harry and Ron instructions. After which she went to brush her teeth in the bathroom and went straight to bed. William was already awake and putting on some clean clothes. A small smile grew on his face when he saw his wife snuggle under the blanket, who had not bothered to change into her pyjamas.

"Wake me in three 'ours, _mon loup_ ," she murmured and buried her head in the pillows. She was asleep within the snip of a finger.

* * *

Harry sat on the floor, with his back against Hermione's bed. His head laid on her mattress, with his eyes closed, all the while he listened to her rhythmic - and at times irregular - breathing. Ron sat on the chair but had distanced it a bit from the bed, since Harry had already sat down close to Hermione by then.

He had his eyes focussed on their unconscious friend. And wondered how it was possible that her eyes moved so fast under her closed eyelids, Ron vaguely remembered his mother saying something about children being delirious while they were ill. Or was it humans in general, not only children? And what had it to do with rapid eye movement anyway? Ron shrugged, he had forgotten.

He could not help but observe Hermione. She _did_ make his heart hammer in his chest with the slightest appearance of one of her smiles after all, or the observant look she most often had, or the tilt of her head whenever she had a question but was already working out the answer by herself before she voiced her question out loud.

But now there lay a whole different Hermione before him. She had lost all colour, had white cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was matted and had clearly been drenched in sweat several times, which had all dried and made hairs stick to her skin. The unguarded expression one got while they slept had an edge to it, as if she had still something to worry about. And this worried him greatly in return.

Fleur had warned them about Hermione's sweat attacks. As of now, it had only happened twice.

Harry shifted a bit, to help his blood's circulation, then he let his head lean backwards again. But not before he noticed the frown on Ron's face.

"What's the matter?" He asked, his eyes closed once more.

Ron sounded far away, his mind was clearly somewhere else. "I still don't like the idea, mate. For our next step, I mean. Griphook is not the kind of guy to help others, is not in his blood. Goblins hate wizards, remember? And it is mutual. Please don't tell 'Mione I said that -"

"It's Hermione." Harry interrupted him, how often had she corrected Ron about this already?

" - Right, Hermione. Anyway. Griphook, is this small evil thing. I had to bring him his dinner and all he did was complain about one thing or another."

 _Well, that is something you two have in common then._ Harry thought drily. He did not say anything to Ron, this discussion was an old one. The first time they had discussed it they had concurred that they would try talking to the Goblin once Hermione was recovered. Thus, Harry let the silence speak for him. And when it had lasted long enough he went to another subject.

"Has Bill asked you questions about our 'quest' as well?"

The change of subject surprised Ron, it caused him to avert his eyes to Harry in amusement.

"Yeah, first he tried his old blackmail strategy. Which _always_ worked, back when I was _younger_." After a meaningful silence, Ron continued, "He even tried to bribe me, saying he would buy me all the candy from Honeydukes I wanted. I wonder if he was serious..."

Harry shook his head with an unbelieving smile. "He was furious when we came back," he stated after a moment and his smile faltered.

Ron grimaced. "Yeah. The first thing I thought when we arrived back here, was: 'Yes, Hermione is saved.' Next moment, my mind was screaming that my very angry mother was running towards us. I _really_ hope that I don't look the same when I am angry."

Both laughed and they were joined by a softer - very weak - laugh that came from behind Harry.

When they realized this their laughter died at once and they turned their heads towards their friend. Harry and Ron looked flabbergasted as if she had risen from the Dead.

"Are these the looks I will get from now on every time I wake up?" Hermione's half-opened eyes went from one to the other and then to the door, a smile appeared then on her face, "Luna, I am so glad to see you." Her voice too was weak, but in the silence of her friends, no one had difficulty hearing what she said.

The Ravenclaw showed her own smile which grew at being noticed. She stepped into the room and sat down next to Harry, though, her seat was on the mattress. "Good morning, Hermione, it has been a long time, hasn't it?"

Hermione nodded, though she was not clear enough in her mind to know when they had last seen each other. Was it not at Fleur's wedding? No, she had seen the Ravenclaw thereafter as well... Was it a funeral? _Dobby's grave, of course._ Then she shook her head, "No, I saw you the day before yesterday, though we did not speak. Was it yesterday that we walked in the dunes, or have I slept longer?"

Luna's eyes lit up. This had been an experiment, to see how well Hermione still functioned after all that had happened, and she was very glad to say that she had passed the test. "Yes, indeed. I think you would remember it. And no, you haven't slept for longer than a day. How do you feel?"

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. She would never admit it, but she felt horrible. Her whole body was stiff and painful. Her clothes and hair were sticky as if she had run a marathon. And her whole body felt way too heavy to even consider sitting up against the headboard. She could not even lift her head up from the pillow if she had wanted to. When she opened her eyes she said, "Fine, I feel fine. Just a bit tired."

In her sleep, visions and sounds had haunted her, had created a nightmare, over and over again. What was supposed to be rest had been exhausting. Thus, to wake up to the sound of her friends' laughter had been a pleasant experience. It had brought her a feeling of familiarity and joy.

"How are you three doing?"

Their replies were short, all were feeling 'fine', which she found hard to believe.

The Muggle-born did not want to hear what had happened to herself this time, she had it still somewhere in her memories and would go through them when she had the time. Instead, she let silence fall on her part, only to have Ron fill it. He told her that Fleur had instructed them that, if Hermione would wake up, they had to feed her the glass of water that stood on the nightstand.

She declined, for she despised the idea that she could not pick the glass up herself, but Harry would not listen. With one hand he gently picked up her head and with the other, he lifted the glass carefully to her lips. His eyes were warm, but stern. Something Hermione was grateful for because she detested Ron's remorseful pity.

Her eyes locked on Harry's. They had their silent conversation, but Hermione was too tired to be able to understand, Harry, on the other hand, was well aware of what Hermione truly wanted. And he whispered his reply, "I am sorry, but Fleur has not left us a Dreamless Sleeping Draught."

"It's alright." Her eyes said otherwise, they told of her fears.

When the glass was empty and her head back on the pillow she let a sigh escape. She knew that the moment she would close her eyes that she would drift back to the darkness she had come from. In all her might she tried to fight the inevitable but failed. Luna said something to which she nodded, but she had not been able to catch any of Luna's words, for sleep had already conquered her thoughts. And the nightmare followed soon. It continued where it had left. Or had it started all over again like it always did at some point?

* * *

Darkness enveloped her whole. As hands enclosed around a small mammal. And they took her to the world of eternity.

Screams were everywhere around her, a constant presence. None of the screams sounded familiar, none of them was her own, nor that of loved ones. They differed in octaves as well; several were definitely from children, others from elderly people, both men and women.

Yet those screams did not come from the people that surrounded her all of a sudden since none of their mouths were agape. Not even slightly. And as Hermione looked at them more closely she saw their facelessness. Hollowed gaps were what they had for eyes. Did they actually have a mouth? She could not see, they walked too fast past her.

There was no one she recognized. And it scared her, it horrified her. The shivers that danced on her spine shook the world. Yet no one minded.

An almost unrelenting desire to see something or someone familiar was stirred awake and the desire only intensified with time.

The Muggle-born began to run, as hard as she could, through the masses of people. For her, the Faceless had become a blur. Which made the screams only worse, they grew more persistent. She ran, faster and faster.

By now the melody of screams was joined by a whispering voice. One Hermione definitely recognized. Bellatrix Lestrange. The Muggle-born would have cried from happiness to hear something familiar, had it not been the very same insults, questions and taunts Bellatrix had whispered and screamed at her whilst she had been tortured.

She ran, still searching; it was all she could do. Standing still would be even worse.

At some point it was enough, she had to scream for help, even though she did not think anyone would come. Her speed lessened, but her feet still moved. Yet the moment her voice was supposed to create a sound a raging river drowned out everything she had wanted to say. And not only her words, for she too was being drowned. Hermione could not breathe. She was pulled underwater, yet as water filled her lungs, whilst she gasped for air, she still breathed. Though it did not feel that way.

It was confusing. The sensation was something that went against all her instincts. It felt like a growing tumour inside her torso. She grasped at her mouth and throat. She even began to pull at her clothes, as if removing them would enable her to breathe once more, but the material would not be torn apart.

Would it never go away, this suffocating feeling? Hermione's movement stilled, her head and body filled with hopelessness. The desire to scream for help fled her mind. And only then did the water slowly ebb away.

At once she stood between the Faceless again, as if she had never been drowned. Their fast pace had grown even more inhuman. Their speed so fast that they created the blur all on their own this time, she did not even need to run. The screams accompanied their presence. And the whispers were still interwoven, like a soft lullaby.

Meanwhile, Hermione, as if she was a simple machine build for only one purpose, resumed her search at once.

She ran past the unidentifiable bodies. Panic began to gnaw at her thoughts. Why was she not able to find the person she searched for? And even more importantly, _who_ was she searching for?

Hermione ran and ran, faster and faster. Panic grew. The whispers hurt, more than the screams ever could.

She knew it would not help, but in her desperation, she covered her ears and closed her eyes. In an attempt to keep the noises out of her head. It had been a foolish idea; of course, it did not work. The noises were not even muffled. Tears wanted to break past her closed eyelids, but she would not let them, she did not want to feel weak.

A feeling of being watched made her look up. Now that her eyelids were not closed tears did stream down her cheeks. She did not feel them, though, for all her attention was caught by the figure that stood a dozen metres away from her. She could not deny the feeling of familiarity, yet she did not know how she recognized this being. For she had never seen it before.

It was a body clad in black cloths, and it had unmistakably feminine curves underneath them. Instead of being another Faceless, this woman had a Raven's head. With unblinking eyes, ones that stared right back at Hermione.

The Muggle-born looked at the person with a mixture of curiosity and dread. A cold sensation crept into her bones, the shiver that travelled over her spine brought goosebumps all over her skin. Like before the whole environment seemed to shake with it. And again, no one but she seemed to notice, not even the Raven woman.

The latter had not moved since the moment Hermione had laid her eyes on her. Something made the Raven woman break the spell, though, for it reached a hand out towards her. It was no claw, just a feminine hand. Yet any curiosity the Muggle-born had felt moments ago was robbed of her being. She felt a chill settle in her bones and fear refilled the now vacant space where curiosity had been. In this instance, she was grateful for the distance between them, even if it were a mere dozen metres.

Without a second to lose Hermione spun around and dashed away, back the way she had come. With the all-consuming fear inside her, Hermione was unaware of the changes in the masses, for, one by one, the Faceless began to disappear.

It did not matter where she ran or where she looked, for the Raven woman was everywhere. The moment Hermione caught a glimpse she would stir herself in another direction, only to be forced to do the same thing a moment later. She ran in circles. And all the while the Raven woman was coming closer.

At some point, Hermione lost her footing and stumbled, right into the wide-open arms of the Raven woman. Her body was rigid at first contact, slowly she looked up, scared of what she would see. Later she wished she had never done that, for those eyes were filled with an anger that resembled the one Hermione had been tortured by. Then, as if the Raven had heard her thoughts, it threw its head backwards and from its open beak came that same mad cackle.

Hermione stumbled backwards, out of the arms, and fell to the ground. In that very same second, everything around her became black, except for the four tiles that were underneath her. The emptiness that surrounded her now was filled anew with the screams and whispers, all that was left of the cackle were barely noticeable echoes.

And it drove Hermione truly mad. The sounds were _everywhere_ within her. She could not escape them, had to constantly hear them, was reminded of how worthless she was by those soft whispers. The screams had no pattern to them, they never would, for they were filled with anguish. They gave a voice to the pain the owners of the screams had felt. And Hermione could do nothing to lessen them. Except...

In a last desperate attempt to silence it all, to save herself from those noises, she jumped into the darkness. And she fell, tumbled through the air. Her instinct was to scream, but the moment she opened her mouth the suffocating sensation rushed back and made it impossible. She was drowned once more. Her suffering was silenced, but not undone.

Within this darkness the screams around her grew in volume, their sound had grown hateful. Bellatrix' whispers could almost be considered of a neutral temper compared to them. It made a wry smile appear on the girl's features, albeit bitterly.

She fell endlessly, an eternity of darkness had enveloped her in its being. The darkness had become her world, wherein the screams and whispers had become the noose for the hanged. Their rope of sound tight around her neck.

Had she been naive to have hoped it would all end when she jumped?

* * *

When she awakened nothing felt abnormal to her senses. There was no fog in her mind, no need to blink her eyes endlessly against the light, her limbs did not feel like a dead weight. Though her muscles still felt sore, at least she was able to move without that crippling pain.

She sat up gingerly. With each movement she felt how her clothes and hair stuck to her body, it made her crave the moment she could stand under the shower. Even though she had so little pain, Hermione still felt her body protest, thus she leaned her back against the headboard of the bed. She glanced at the slumbering figure in the chair close to her bed.

Fleur had her eyes closed whilst her head was probed upon the palm of her hand. Her whole body was in the relaxed state of one being asleep, but Hermione observed by the pace of Fleur's breathing that the woman was in a mere slumber. Her breathing was too light and fast to be truly asleep.

If she reached out she could easily touch the French woman's cheek. Instead, she observed her a little longer in the evening light.

Though it was not long till she saw the fireflies dancing around in the air, it was still too bright outside for their light to be of any worth, however. Yet their presence made Hermione happy, her eyes followed one and then another. A smile graced her lips unbeknownst to herself.

_"I am glad to see that they make you happy."_

_"Yes, they are lovely. I suspect it is a transfiguration?"_ Hermione waited a moment longer before she let her eyes travel back to Fleur. Their eyes met. Hermione could see emotions flash in them, which surprised her, for she had always thought Fleur to be one to have perfected the art of pretence. Not being one to ever show her true emotions.

Relief was the first emotion Hermione recognized in blue eyes, after which came annoyance and then, a flash of anger.

 _"Yes, it is."_ Fleur refrained herself from telling that it was one of her own creations, there were currently more pressing matters to talk about.

Hermione fidgeted with the rim of the blanket. She had been foolish, she was made painfully aware, and felt a blush of shame heat her cheeks.

Fleur let the awkward silence between them stretch onward. She had the Muggle-born pinned with her eyes.

 _"You of all people..."_ Fleur whispered, at last, her voice was still neutral, though.

 _"Fleur, I am sorry,"_ Hermione's French came more hesitant over her tongue, the situation made her uncertain. Surely the older woman would understand. It was not as if Hermione had taken a walk deliberately to annoy Fleur, it was just that she felt so... watched and caged. She had not been in control of her own body and still was not... It felt as if it would drive her insane.

 _"To think that what I am about to say is to you, of all people,"_ Fleur repeated her earlier words and paused, searched with her eyes for something in Hermione's. Who wondered what she should do, she had already apologized and she had truly meant it, the remorse was still evident in everything she did.

The quarter-Veela let a deep sigh escape her. Did Hermione hear disappointment, or was she irritated? Both? _"What you did was a foolishly stupid thing, because of several different matters. Not only regarding your own health."_

 _"I... I know, I can explain - "_ Hermione tried to say, only to be cut off.

_"You know?! Well, you have a horrible way of showing that then!"_

The Muggle-born thought this unfair of the French woman. Not only did she not let Hermione finish her sentence, but Fleur did not want to see it from Hermione's perspective. And she said as much.

 _"Unfair?!"_ The French woman was perplexed by Hermione's bold words and laughed bitterly. _"You know what is unfair? When someone does their utmost best to heal another, only to be forced to watch the other throw it out of the window. Under the guise that they feel confined to the house! And after which they have to go through the whole ordeal of healing and sleepless nights anew._ That _is unfair, 'Ermione."_

Fleur stood up from her seat, she could not sit still anymore, their argument got under her skin and she had to do something. Thus, with fast and angry movements she tidied up the room.

For a few seconds there was silence, Fleur thought this was because she had shocked the younger woman with her harsh words, but when she looked up from her current task she saw anger simmer within Hermione's eyes. Something which she was not used to, there were only a few people that could be angry with her.

She had not anticipated this response and would have watched in shock if Hermione had not chosen that moment to speak up in her own defence. _"This is precisely what I mean! Have you any idea how it is to be tortured to a crying pulp of blood, bruises and cuts?! Any idea? No?! Well, how unfortunate, because it's jolly, truly! To have someone tower above you and to feel every ounce of their hatred in the form of abuse. I would recommend anyone to undergo the same treatment."_

Hermione had thrown the blanket off herself and sat on the edge of the bed, her feet on the ground and ready to stand up, so that there was a smaller difference between their heights.

_"I never said that which you went through was not horrible, which, obviously, it was. And believe me when I say that I will piece you back together each and every time you break down into a million pieces. But that doesn't mean that you should just do whatever you desire, think of the consequences, 'Ermione!"_

How she had done it the Muggle-born did not know, but now she stood steadily on her feet. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins? Either way, the two women faced each other as their argument got loud enough to be heard, if somewhat muffled by the walls and closed doors, thorough the whole house.

Their words were in French, however, at times Hermione did resort back to English; when she did not remember the French words fast enough. Still most was said or yelled at each other in Fleur's native language. Which made it impossible for all the others to understand their 'conversation'.

All the frustration, anger and fear both women felt was thrown into the argument. They needed to let it all go. Though not once did they insult each other, because that was not what this was about. They were not on the same page. Each had a different opinion and all they did was give a voice to those with relatively civilized words; it was just voiced in a frustrated, angry and fearful passion.

Neither one was aware of how much time passed, but it was Fleur who made the wise decision to stop this. The French woman momentarily closed her eyes with a low growl, then she directed a deadly glare at something on the other side of the window, something which Hermione could not see. Or was it the darkening sky Fleur currently despised?

Hermione breathed heavily after all the effort this argument had taken from her, yet she would not sit down, instead, she kept her balance by holding on to the chair whilst she stared at the quarter-Veela.

Fleur inhaled deeply and then, with harsh movements, she turned around and stormed out of the room. The Muggle-born stood there and listened to the noises Fleur left behind, whilst her eyes stared at the open door. She was minutely glad that, despite her anger, Fleur had not slammed with any of the doors on her way. Hermione's father had done that whenever he got angry and it had always scared her.

It was at that moment that a heavy scent hit her senses. One that was intrusive and unmistakably of Veela origins. She had never smelled it before, but she was certain of this. The air was filled with it. Hermione looked at the window and opted to open it slightly, to let the fresh air from the dunes carry the scent away. Not that it was unpleasant, she just did not think it wise with all the men in the house.

As she stood there, with the soft breeze caressing her skin and with her eyes closed she listened to the noises from outside. Her hands laid lifelessly on the windowsill. Slowly her thoughts calmed, and as the adrenaline left her system she grew tired once more.

* * *

Fleur briskly walked out of the room and down the stairs. She needed to do something, she could not sit still at the moment. Her hormones filled every nook and cranny she passed, of which she was aware. She was also aware that it made the male population blush and stutter, but one glare from her send them hurrying away.

The quarter-Veela picked her jacket from the coat rack and set out for a walk beside the shore. She needed some time to clear her thoughts. Yet, before she had set one step out of the house, she had already decided that when she returned she would start the preparations for dinner.

* * *

The front door opened and closed. Then only the rolling of waves, the songs of birds and the breeze could be heard. Hermione opened her eyes and saw a familiar figure walk away from the house. Silver-blond hair was being toyed with by the wind.

The Muggle-born did not feel guilty for the fact that she had argued back, but she did feel slightly remorseful about how they had parted. _Maybe I should have apologised a second time?_

"It is said that one can only argue heatedly with the people they hold close to their hearts; ones which they know they will not lose because of some harsh words." Hermione turned to the new sound, even though she had already recognised it as Luna's voice.

"I am willing to argue with you as well then?" Hermione said, a teasing twinkle broke through her frown and settled in her eyes.

Luna beamed at the words, "I can handle myself well enough in an argument, though I believe that you have had enough of those for the rest of the day."

This was the closest Luna and Hermione had ever come to calling each other 'friends'. They had gotten to know each other through Ginny years ago. And even though the Muggle-born had difficulty with Luna's creatures in their blossoming friendship, they had become fast friends. Because, even if Hermione was not one to believe something without evidence, she _did_ respect Luna in her ideas and theories. Which the Ravenclaw had appreciated just as much as when Hermione would have believed in Wrackspurts and all the other creatures Luna knew so much about.

They shared a friendship which grew stronger over the years and through hardship. One that came more naturally to Hermione than her friendship with Ginny. Because of the simple fact that Luna and Hermione shared more interests; academic subjects, par example. And both, Luna and she, lacked any form of interest in the latest rumours, much to Ginny's chagrin.

Qua academics it was not uncommon for their opinions to differ, but that only made it more fun to them. The discussions which ensued could be as hilarious as they could be serious.

Another thing to be greatly admired in her younger friend was how wise she could be. Sometimes the wise comments were said at truly random times - such as while they studied in the Library - but they were wise nonetheless. And Luna could sprout something alike gibberish from her lips just the same, to keep the balance.

Hermione smiled whilst she recalled their years of friendship.

"You are smiling?" Luna asked and made her way through the room on tiptoes as if there were lines she was not allowed to stand upon.

"Are there creatures on the floor which I cannot see?" Hermione asked in all earnest, while she studied the wooden floor.

"No." Luna did not give any further explanation, her eyes focussed on the floor as well. Only when she stood beside Hermione did their eyes meet again. Hermione had a small smile on her lips, yet the frown still lingered. The Ravenclaw reached upward and gently tucked a stray, matted curl behind Hermione's ear.

"It was yesterday that I scared the Wrackspurts away. And you have not frowned enough yet to make them return." _So what's the matter?_ Luna's eyes conveyed.

A few seconds of silence.

"It is just that I wish... Things to be different." The Muggle-born said lamely, she sounded weak in her own ears.

"I can imagine." Luna let silence fall between them, whilst they both gazed out of the window. Which was another aspect about Luna Hermione had learned to appreciate, there was no need to banish silence.

Though at last, the Ravenclaw did speak up again, "Maybe you should take a shower, being in contact with water can stimulate the mind to relax."

"Yes," Hermione breathed, "I feel like I am the filthiest person in this whole house."

"Hm, could be," Luna murmured, still not looking away from the window, "what about the Goblin though?"

The Muggle-born pulled a face at the thought. It was followed by chuckles from them both.

"Shall I clean your bed, while you shower?"

"No, let's do it together."

Together they made the bed and tidied the last things in the room - during which a pile of clean clothes suddenly appeared on top of the table with a barely audible 'poof'.

She had heard Fleur return through the front door, but had not anticipated that the French woman would make the effort to gather another set of her own clothes for Hermione to wear and magic them to Hermione's room. The gesture warmed the Muggle-born, but it also meant that the quarter-Veela was not yet comfortable to face her. Which gave the warmth a sinking quality.

"I will take the laundry downstairs, so you can freshen up," Luna said and levitated the sheets before her whilst she hummed one of her tunes. Hermione halted her with a touch to the arm and when their eyes met she softly thanked her. She got a smile in return and then the Ravenclaw was gone.

Water and soap streamed down Hermione's body within a minute. She had been desperate for this sensation, to feel the filth be washed away from her body and to see it disappear through the shower's drain. All the while she made sure her left underarm would not get wet.

It was while she brushed her still dripping hair that the scent of a delicious meal penetrated the steam of her shower. Her mouth watered at once and her stomach rumbled. She was very hungry. With a bit more speed in her tasks, Hermione stood outside the bathroom and at the top of the stairs within the quarter of an hour.

As she descended the stairs she had a death grip on the handrail, for she was afraid to fall otherwise. From downstairs there came the buzz of liveliness. Whilst she slowly walked from step to step Hermione could hear the two Weasley brothers talking, followed by Dean's laughter. She had not heard Fleur, Harry and Luna yet, but she suspected them to be there anyway. Though there did come cutlery and cooking noises from the kitchen.

When she finally arrived on the ground floor Hermione's suspicions were affirmed, they all were in the house. For she found the latter three in the kitchen, and the Weasleys and Dean were in the living room. The Muggle-born did not hesitate a moment in her decision of which group to join. In the living room, it may be merrier, but those were not her dearest friends. Though Hermione was not yet certain what place Fleur occupied precisely in her mind's circle of friends, yet she wanted Luna to be right; that people only argued with others who would not abandon them after a few heated words.

However, when she stood in the doorpost she _did_ hesitate. Would the quarter-Veela ignore her after what had just transpired between them, or would she send glares Hermione's way, or something else? Being ignored was Hermione's greatest fear. She did not dare step inside the room, this was Fleur's domain, it felt like she would be trespassing.

The French woman had her back turned towards her position and likely did not know she was here yet. _I could go back upstairs again._ Luna and Harry looked simultaneously up from their task as if they had heard her thoughts, and Hermione saw to her happy surprise that they had decked the table for seven. Meaning that she had been included.

Harry beckoned with his hand. Hermione obeyed, though, with an embarrassed expression on her features, her eyes could not stay in one place for long. Harry hugged her minutely.

"Shall I take the meals for Ollivander and Griphook upstairs?" Luna uttered, held two plates up and walked to Fleur who still stood at the stove, not aware of the Muggle-born's arrival.

"Yes, thank you. And maybe you could see 'ow 'Ermione is doing?" There was no anger, nor irritation. Hermione's hope bloomed in her chest.

Luna just hummed mysteriously, not mentioning the obvious. Harry smiled at Luna and said that he would help her, which made Hermione tense. She would be alone with Fleur, who had all the right to still be cross with her.

Harry and Luna were way too willing to leave her all on her own, in her opinion. As they departed there fell a silence in the kitchen. _Should I clear my throat, to let her know I am here?_

_"'Ermione, could you please get some more garlic from the pantry?"_

Hermione's surprise was palpable in the air around her. Fleur had never turned around, nor glanced over her shoulder, how could she have known? To her embarrassment it made her stutter over the French words, _"How did you know I was here?"_

A cluck of Fleur's tongue was the first response, then a glance, one that held Hermione's eyes for a moment and then the French woman nodded in the direction of the pantry. A silent reminder that she truly did want the garlic.

 _"The reflexion in the window, dear_ _."_ The night had descended upon them in the time Hermione had showered, which made the glass a good mirror.

Hermione had to search for a moment but found the garlic in the end. She could not help but ask, _"So it has nothing to do with enhanced Veela hearing or something else in that part of your DNA?"_ She made absolutely certain there was no suspicion in her voice, only sincere curiosity.

Another glance, but dark blue eyes averted soon back to the garlic she sliced in small pieces. Then the ghost of a smile appeared on her lips, "Non, ma chérie," she paused to add the last ingredient to their food, _"there are no Veela senses involved."_

Why and how she did not know, but Hermione did not truly believe Fleur's words. Yet she did not press it. She leaned with her hip against the counter, her fingers played with bits and pieces of vegetables that lay forgotten on the counter, her eyes stared at nothing.

It took her a dozen seconds to return to reality. Her voice was a mere whisper, "Fleur..." she began and looked up at the woman, _"I am sorry I riled you up like that, but I won't apologize for what I said... I truly do think that way."_ She had to search for the French words, she had difficulty forming the sentences.

The quarter-Veela stilled in her hands and looked sideways at her. _"Don't apologize, 'Ermione. There is no need for that, things like that happen in a..."_ Hermione's searching eyes widened slightly as Fleur paused in her words and averted her gaze. _"A friendship."_

Hermione failed to hide her relieved smile.

In the chaos of all the happy feelings that currently raced through her body Hermione forgot to reply in French, "Yes, you are completely right." Anyone could hear the fondness in her voice, for she wanted to convey her desire for a friendship between the two of them. Fleur's forgivingness was more important to her than she had realized, even if the older woman was of the opinion that there was nothing to forgive.

Fleur sent her such a sweet smile that Hermione had to refrain herself from hugging her. Was the quarter-Veela happy with her response? Had this been scary for Fleur as well?

"In what is my wife completely right?" William walked in and took a seat at the table, followed by Ron and Dean. Luna and Harry also decided to return at this moment, each taking a seat at the table.

Fleur responded in a heartbeat, "That it is silly of Griphook to have a dislike for garlic."

"Griphook does not care for anything," Ron said somewhat annoyed, his negative feelings towards the Goblin were quite obvious. Hermione glanced at the William, he did not respond for a moment, though the others around him had started another conversation and in the end, Bill mingled with them.

The Muggle-born sighed, though kept her face neutral as her eyes returned to Fleur, who smiled still, but whose eyes did not look back at her, instead they were focussed on the last spices for the meal.

Hermione was instructed to take the bread and salad to the table and to sit down. Not much later Fleur came with the rest and the feast could begin.

All the people around her talked and she listened contently, whilst she ate as much as she could stomach, which was not a lot. But the food was lovely and she treasured every single bite, this was something completely different than all those months camping in the woods with nothing but beans and mushrooms to eat.

After the meal, the ones that had not helped with the cooking - which were William, Ron and Dean - started to clear the table and wash the dishes. The rest transferred themselves to the living room and entertained themselves.

Fleur gave Hermione another dose of a Healing Potion and a hormone regulator. And sat herself down in one of the corners of the couch with her journal.

Harry sat in a chair next to one of the windows and looked outside, with the Snitch in his hand. The scene was a bit gloomy, but Hermione knew that he needed a moment to himself.

Thus, the Muggle-born sat down beside Luna near the fireplace. The Ravenclaw had an older version of the Quibbler in her hands but set it aside the moment two socks came into her peripheral vision and waited while the person gingerly lowered herself down.

The two sat close to each other, with their backs to the other occupants in the room as if they deliberately wanted to create their own little world, with the fireplace as their sun. It did make whispering a lot easier. They talked about several personal experiences from the months in which they had not seen each other. Though Hermione could not mention most of what she had gone through.

During their conversation, neither one noticed that the other three entered the room. Ron and Dean played chess and William had sat down on the couch, one arm draped over Fleur's shoulders and with the other hand, he held the book he was reading.

A homey feeling was the result. People enjoyed themselves. And the fact that a war was going on suddenly felt like an absurd theory.

Hermione yawned, and this had not been the first time. After the meal, with her stomach content, she had become a bit drowsy, which had worsened over time. She had been awake for just a few hours, yet was already incredibly tired. Something she did not want to give in to. Hermione knew she had to go to bed, but the prospect of sleeping alone in a room scared her. She had not slept alone for months, at least not without Harry somewhere in or near the tent; and now she was supposed to fall asleep in a room all alone? That just would not do.

Yet, to ask only Harry to sleep in her room would be a painful statement towards Ron. But she could not ask the two of them, because if she was honest with herself she simply did not want to sleep with the youngest Weasley brother in the same room. For she saw in his behaviour the growing frustration he carried with him; which she assumed was because she had constantly rejected his attempts to become closer to her, something he had tried relentlessly ever since he had returned to Harry and her when they had still camped. And then there was the fact that Harry and she had become obviously close during his absence, though they had grown closer even before Ron's departure, which she actually suspected to be one of the reasons for his departure in the first place.

Thus, because of this growing frustration in Ron, Hermione foresaw a big fight between Ronald and herself. One in which everything would be her fault and he would be the one that was wronged; in his opinion, obviously. It annoyed her that she had to keep herself from asking Harry to transfer his mattress to her room, but it was for the best.

Another yawn came from her mouth. The Muggle-born had been silent for some time now, pondering what to do about her sleeping arrangement when her shoulder was bumped by Luna's. She looked sideways, though the Ravenclaw looked into the fire. The glow and shadows from the flames danced over her features.

"What is it?" Hermione whispered.

"Don't you think you should go to bed?"

She was silent for a moment, in the end, she just nodded.

"But...?" Luna tilted her head sideways as she finally looked Hermione in the eyes.

A silence fell between them, so long that any other person would have shrugged and let it slip, but Luna would not, not unless Hermione would say she did rather not talk about it. At long last Hermione opened her mouth and told her the truth, "I don't want to sleep alone in a room..." It was spoken in her softest whisper.

Luna did not laugh, nor did she look surprised. She just nodded, with a serious expression on her face and whispered, "Would you like to sleep in my room? I think we could easily fit your bed in it with a simple Expansion Charm."

Relieve flooded through Hermione as she nodded, she had not dared to hope that Luna would offer her room, even though they were friends.

"I will make the arrangements right away, then, alright?" Luna's soft words lingered whilst the Ravenclaw stood up, skipped through the door and up the stairs.

The Muggle-born sat for a second longer before she stood up to join Harry, who was still seated at the window. He looked up from his musings as she neared, his frown disappearing.

"Hello there, stranger," he muttered and patted on one of the armrests for her to sit upon.

"Good evening, gentleman," she said in return and sat down upon the appointed armrest. Now both of them stared outside the window, for as far as they could, since there was almost complete darkness outside.

Again she started to whisper, even though these were not necessarily matters she wanted to keep between the two of them. "I am going to bed, but I thought I should let you know that I will be sleeping in Luna's room, so maybe you three could move your mattresses to my old room?"

"Yeah, that would be more comfortable, thanks."

"Now that I have been awake for a bit longer I can agree with you on the weird feeling of missing our old tent," Hermione murmured.

Harry hummed his agreement but said nothing more. What was there to say anyway, they could not talk freely with all the others around them. Hermione sighed and wished him a good night, but before she could stand he had grabbed her hand.

"Goodnight, love," Harry whispered, a fond smile appeared on his lips.

The endearment was not new to Hermione, for he had used it on a few other occasions, but it was still rare for him to say it. As if he too had to get used to the sound of it. It filled Hermione with an overpowering warmth each and every time he called her that though.

Hermione walked to the door and said her last goodnight to the whole room, which apparently prompted Fleur to stand up and follow her upstairs.

The quarter-Veela smiled as she found out that Luna had levitated Hermione's bed into her room. An act Hermione explained by saying that now the boys could sleep in her old room. Fleur nodded and said that she did not have to explain anything, merely that she was happy that it was this easily taken care of. She also provided Hermione with a Dreamless Sleep Draught and persisted that she drank a big glass of water.

"I am not this stubborn, Fleur," Hermione said, she spoke in English for Luna's sake, who was brushing her teeth and was watching them.

"So you say, chérie," the words were almost accusing, causing the younger one to sigh in defeat. "Please drink the water and then I will leave you alone."

Fleur kept her promise, for the moment Hermione had emptied the glass she started to walk away. The Muggle-born wished her a good night as she watched her descend the stairs.

Luna and she talked for a few minutes longer as each laid in their own bed, but Hermione took the Draught soon, for she felt slivers of sleep wrap themselves around her. The last thing she saw was that Luna switched on her bedside lamp and levitated a book from the bookcase near the door in her awaiting hand.

With a sleepy smile on her lips, Hermione murmured, "Wandless levitation." A second later she was in a peaceful sleep.

That night Hermione was spared the nightmares.

Unfortunately, she could not take the Draught each and every night, for it would affect her functioning thorough the day, make her drowsy and slow, her mind dulled. And her nerve system and hormone regulation would grow depended on the Dreamless Sleeping Draught. These were known side effects if one took the draught too often. Which was something Hermione wanted to avoid at all costs. Even if that meant she had to sleep through the nightmare, or not sleep at all.

Therefore, it took a mere two nights without the sleep-inducing potion for the Muggle-born and the ones she told about the nightmares to know that this nightmare was not something to easily go away. Though it did help to sleep with another in the room. Somehow Hermione knew and felt in her subconscious that she was not alone. This had also been the case when Fleur had watched over her. But it had taken her a few nights to realize this.

However, Hermione would not give up without even trying to get rid of this nightmare, she was stubborn after all. Unfortunately, she had no Hogwarts' Library at her disposal. Thus, for now, she would focus solely on Occlumency.

Yet, the moment she mentioned she wanted to train in Occlumency William forbid the practice of it. She had not even asked Harry's help regarding the matter. However, Bill would not relent. Under the guise that it would not do any good for Hermione's improving health. The Muggle-born suspected that it had more to do with the fact that the oldest Weasley feared there would come teenage-drama forth from it.

It was mostly in the evenings that Hermione secretly trained together with Harry somewhere in the house - if one could call it that. She had to make her mind blank and void of emotion, but this was harder than one might believe. More than once she apologized for the hard times she had given him during their Fifth year at Hogwarts.

In these days Hermione was also forced to acknowledge that it took time for a body to heal after being inflicted as many curses as she had. Something she did not do easily. For she wanted to go outside to take a walk by herself. And she wanted to join whenever her friends went. But Fleur - and Harry - would not let her, too afraid for a repeat of last time. Even when Hermione promised to stay in the garden and not do anything strange.

It was not as if the Muggle-born was bored, on the contrary, she was busy practising one thing or another. The confinement was something that proved difficult for her. Luckily there was enough she had to study and practice. For both Luna and she had no longer their own wands and in the days that Hermione was restricted to the house, they practised for hours with the wands Harry had acquired in the battle at Malfoy Manor.

Fate - in some sort of horrid joke - had granted the Muggle-born Bellatrix' wand.

Because when both had tried out each of the wands for the first time, the different results could not be denied. For whenever Luna tried to conjure a spell with Bellatrix' wand nothing happened, literally nothing. Whereas when Hermione tried to produce magic there came sparks at the very least.

The first day of practising had been the worst for Hermione, her patience had been tested to its limits. But halfway through their practice hours, she had been on the verge to throw the hateful piece of magical wood in the corner and to never look back at it.

A frustrated growl from her lips had made this clear to the Ravenclaw, who halted in her own magic and regarded the Muggle-born for a moment. Hermione could not look back, her eyes instead focussed on the wooden floor, ashamed of her own disability to make a simple Levitation spell succeed. Yet in the end, Hermione elaborated, "I just feel humiliated... By a wand... For God's sake, I am pathetic."

Another moment of silence.

"You have to _see_ what you have already accomplished, Hermione. The wand actually _acknowledges_ the fact that you want it to produce a spell." Luna took a step towards her companion and laid a hand on Hermione's. "Think of it as if you are drawing fish on a paper. Fish that differ in size and rarity. When that is done, all you have to do is wait for them to start swimming."

"Luna, that is waiting for the impossible," Hermione opposed, though her voice was hesitant.

"Isn't that what some people say about defeating You-Know-Who? Loudest by the man himself. Yet I am certain that you three can do it. Harry can defeat Him, with the help of Ron and you. And I am not alone in this opinion."

One hand softly squeezed the other.

All the while Hermione stayed silent, she did not dare to argue. A familiar fear for the unknown future seized her. Suddenly the task to get control over Bellatrix' wand had become far more important. Having control over this wand was not a possibility, it was a necessity. Bellatrix' wand _would_ listen to her, no matter that its former mistress hated everything about her.

Luna's words enabled her to rationalize the situation and it gave her the feeling of control, something she had missed terribly. With her determination sharpened the Muggle-born had not once grumbled after this incident and only stopped practising whenever someone voiced their concerns for her wellbeing.

At the end of the first day, she had been able to cast the most basic spells and in the days that followed her control over the wand had grown continually. At the end of the third day, medium-hard spells could already be cast.

If only she could test her ability in offensive spells, but she had to wait until she was allowed outside.

Luna too had most of her wand's will tamed by her command. The Ravenclaw had constantly been one step ahead regarding control over her 'new' wand. Which was not surprising since it was Narcissa's. One that laid easier in anyone's hand, as long as the person was qualified - smart - enough.

Hermione had enough to concern herself with inside the house. However, it was being forced to stay inside the house which had the Muggle-born itching at times. Moments in which she could feel like a caged animal. And she found them horrible.

Yet another distraction could make her momentarily forget the whole situation. For Fleur was good company. They could talk and discuss for hours on end, about academic curriculum, the differences between England and France, even stories about their childhoods had been shared between the two of them.

On the other hand, it was also enjoyable to annoy her _captor_ , as Hermione liked to refer to Fleur when she talked to Harry or Luna. Just loud enough for Fleur to hear, of course. The quarter-Veela would sometimes look up with a raised eyebrow or a smirk on her face. The arrogance Fleur could emit in these moments was astounding. As if she truly drew pleasure from keeping Hermione inside.

On this fourth day of recovery - May the 7th - while they both sat contently on the couch in the living room, Hermione was suddenly in the same teasing mood. She glanced several times from her book to the quarter-Veela, who sat to her right seemingly absorbed in her own book. Then the Muggle-born discarded her book beside her.

 _"Fleur,"_ she said in all earnest, whilst she crossed her legs, she turned her body wholly towards the other woman and scooted a bit closer to her. Only when dark blue eyes looked up, with a glimmer in them that told that she knew where this was going, did Hermione continue, _"Please, I beg of you, let me go outside with Harry or Luna, or yourself."_

Hermione knew that the answer would be the same as before, but to make her request a bit more dramatic she stared longingly out of the window and stretched her arm out towards it as if she wanted to grasp her last possible escape.

 _"No, my answer has not changed since last time."_ Came the dry remark. As she said this Fleur averted her eyes back to the book in her lap, but the younger woman saw that she was not reading a single word. Hermione smiled at the knowledge and knew it did not go unnoticed. She steeled her features into seriousness once more and said simply, _"You are evil, you know that, right?"_

 _"How so?"_ Fleur asked, still pretending to read.

_"Oh, don't you play innocent, you know very well what I mean."_

Hermione momentarily wondered if spending these many hours in each other's company had ever felt awkward between them - since their friendship was still so young. Somehow she knew that if it ever had felt awkward, that it had long since gone. However, the Muggle-born doubted it had ever actually existed between them.

After a dramatic silence, she continued, _"You are evil, it's painfully obvious to me now."_

 _"My dear, have you not noticed that it was me who took care of you these last few days? Is that what an 'evil' being would do? I think not, no?"_ As Fleur said the last words she blinked innocently and looked from underneath her eyelashes.

 _"But that is all part of your plan, of course!"_ Hermione exclaimed, still in her role of the accuser. _"A plan with which you want to conquer the world!"_ With her hands she mimicked claws and an evil smirk was on her face. Hermione tried to resemble the typical villain and saw joy flash in dark blue eyes.

But it was gone the moment her companion spoke, _"Who told you this, smart-ass?"_ Fleur deadpanned, _"It were the Blackbirds, weren't they? Knew I shouldn't have let them in on the mission."_

This made the Muggle-born laugh, her serious act broken and forgotten. _"You are the worst."_

 _"'Ermione, I really have no idea what you are talking about."_ Fleur tried to look innocent again, but the mischievous sparks in her eyes gave the whole act away.

During their silly chitchat, the quarter-Veela had put her book on the coffee table, turned her body towards Hermione, with her legs underneath her, one arm draped over the backrest and the other comfortably in her lap. They sat facing each other as their conversation skidded from one fun story to another and between the humorous words were some serious notes and opinions. It was something that came easily to the two women, their wit and humour were on the same level. At moments like these Hermione was truly able to forget that she was not allowed outside. She could even forget that there were still others in and around the house.

It was until William's appearance in the living room - closely followed by his younger brother - that it felt as if it was just the two of them in this part of the world. To the Muggle-born at least, since she did not dare ask Fleur if she felt the same. The mere idea made Hermione blush in shame.

"Why such flaming cheeks, Hermione, have you two been talking about us?" If possible Hermione's cheeks reddened even worse. William winked at her, he was merely teasing. She dared not look at Ron and fled the scene by saying that she would be making tea. To welcome the group that had returned from their outdoors occupation. The Muggle-born hoped that Harry and Luna would soon return before Ron would follow her to the kitchen and try to come close to her again.

Her prayers were heard this time, for when she set the kettle on the stove she heard the front door open and familiar voices speak to one another. Harry said something then she heard Dean's voice as well, but both faded away to the living room.

The Muggle-born turned around and smiled at seeing Luna walk towards her, whilst warming her cold hands by breathing on them. Hermione opened her arms and enveloped Luna wholly and said, "Here, take some of my warmth."

Luna's chuckle filled the kitchen with delight as she returned the embrace and made sure that her hands were underneath Hermione's vest.

Hermione breathed in deeply and smelled the outside world, the pine trees, and the ocean air had mingled their scent within the long blond hair.

"Can you smell the beautiful old souls of the trees I talked with?"

"Yes," Hermione breathed, "they smell wonderful."

"Your warmth is wonderful as well."

They gathered enough cups for the whole company. With Luna Hermione shared the same stories as she did with Fleur, yet also other parts and more personal bits. Hermione's trust in Luna was stronger, something to never disappear. Fleur was not long enough in her life to come even close to it, not by far. Despite the fact that the quarter-Veela had been nothing but sincere in their interactions. Trust always came slowly. And still, she was of the opinion that the French woman was uncannily handy in lowering her mental and emotional barriers.


	4. Duels and Wands

It was on the fifth day after the disastrous stroll that would be the first time she was _allowed_ to go outside again. To her great surprise.

After dinner it had become a custom for everyone to take one last walk beside the shore, leaving Hermione - together with Griphook and Ollivander - alone in the house for about half an hour. And the Muggle-born thought that today would not be any different. She had already settled in the corner of the couch, whilst she stared out of the window with a forgotten book in her lap. All the while the group readied themselves in the hall. She listened to the noises they made and wished she could join them. Then she heard someone walk through the living room. Her eyes moved away from the window to observe the person.

Fleur stood at the other end of the couch, studying Hermione in return. A smile on her lips and with an aura of expectation about her.

For a mere split-second the Muggle-born looked confused, then her face transformed into a happy and hopeful expression.

Fleur's smile broke into a grin and she affirmed Hermine's suspicion by nodding her consent. She did not let a second go wasted, Hermione scrambled off the couch and rushed past the quarter-Veela to the coat hangers in the hallway were still waiting until the last person was done. She had her coat on within the blink of an eye, her boots - on the other hand - were another story. As Harry turned around to look at what happened, he saw her immediately and he too smiled, but she did not see, for she was busy tying her shoelaces.

"I was beginning to wonder how much longer Fleur would keep you in here," Luna said, her eyes on something behind Hermione, her demeanour warm and unbiased.

William commented immediately, quick to defend his wife, "Well, she is an excellent Healer, only did what was best for Hermione."

Hermione on her turn defended Luna, knowing that she would not do it herself. The Ravenclaw was more likely to be humming a tune or watch dust twirl around in the air. Thus, while she tied the last pair of shoelaces, Hermione countered, "Luna never even suggested the opposite, Bill, all she said was that she wondered about the length my confinement to the house." Her tone was almost one of indifference, for this discussion - if one could call it one - was unnecessary. She was of the opinion that William should not have acted as if Luna had just tried to burn his house down.

Normally she would have argued with a sharp tongue and a bite, but now she merely countered. One could almost say she was gentle. And most notable of all, she did not wait for a response. She beckoned for Ron - who stood nearest to the front door - to open it so that they all could move on outside. He did as he was asked. The fresh air greeted them as it filled the hallway, it made Hermione yearn for more. She wanted to taste freedom. To feel it on her skin and in her hair.

If William had wanted to say something Hermione did not hear his attempt, for she was able to manoeuvre around everyone and dashed out of the front door, without a care for his response.

It was a wondrous feeling to be outside once more. Exhilarating. After all these days of being holed up.

She almost felt like a child, one that jumped in the puddles on the street. The fact that she followed Luna around - who pointed at all which caught her eye and explained to her why one should stand still to admire the beauty of these particular sceneries of nature - only intensified this feeling. And she enjoyed it immensely.

Hermione would have loved to run over the dunes, to move as fast as she could. But she was not stupid, nor suicidal.

Fleur would not let her. And the Muggle-born was made aware of this for she had caught those dark blue eyes watch her a few times already. She averted her eyes when Hermione looked back the first half dozen times. After which their eye contact was no longer broken on the Veela's behalf.

A mischievous twinkle in dark blue eyes and an upward twitch of the corners of Fleur's lips were the response Hermione got when she lifted her chin slightly. All the while those lips moved to form words the Muggle-born could not hear, Fleur was in a conversation with William as the couple walked side by side with their arms entwined.

Hermione did not shy away from Fleur's mischievous eyes, though it did slightly confuse her, she would not show this. Instead, she raised one eyebrow, to convey a dare of her own. After that, the Muggle-born did not grant the French woman her attention anymore. She ignored her and deliberately looked the other way the remainder of the walk.

All she wanted was to feel the elements of nature have their effect on her body. Goosebumps and tangled curls because of the wind, a red nose and her condensed breath from the cold, eyes which could not see the details around her due to the intensifying darkness.

It was the perfect example of an early Summer night, one that reminded the people who still ventured outside that Winter should not yet be forgotten.

The walk ended way too soon, in her opinion, but Hermione did not protest, for she knew she should not push her luck. Not regarding her body, nor regarding the one who had helped her heal.

An hour of chatter and tea filled the living room. All were merry. And few thoughts were about the Wizarding War which, of course, never paused with their absence. Yet, despite the merriment, when Hermione went to bed she was still haunted by the Raven woman, the Faceless and all which accompanied the everlasting nightmare.

She awakened early in the morning, the sun was not even breaking through the darkness yet. And Luna was still fast asleep. With a Muffilation Charm Hermione made her way downstairs - after she had visited the toilet - and began to busy herself with preparing breakfast, which was not a small task for the number of people who resided in this Cottage. It helped to clear her mind from the last nasty vestiges of the horrible dream.

Slowly one after the other shuffled into the kitchen and began to help or sit at the kitchen table, they would be the ones to take care of the dishes after breakfast was over. To Hermione's surprise, Fleur was the last to enter the kitchen with sleep still evident in her eyes.

Not much was said. Most were still too drowsy to be talkative.

William would leave the Cottage for his work and some Order errands. He also said to be conducting a plan to move some of them to another residence in a few days' time.

When she heard it the Muggle-born nodded whilst she munched on her toast, her eyes wandered to the window and stayed there. She had wondered in the past few days how much longer these arrangements would last. She could imagine that this was not really William's optimal situation. Having so many people within his house could not be easy for someone with semi-werewolf nerves and senses. About Fleur's preferences, she was not sure, for the quarter-Veela could be as mysterious as the moon when she wanted to be.

Somehow Hermione had the feeling that she would not be there when the rearranging would begin. For she had been the only reason for the trio to stay here and the moment she could truly function again would be the sign for them to leave. And that would be soon, she was sure of it.

* * *

The moment the trio was outside the Cottage Harry heaved a sigh, finally, they could do whatever they wanted, on the domain that was surrounded by the Wards at least. This time they would not carelessly walk out of them. And he bumped his shoulder playfully against Hermione's. Who smiled back, she knew him well.

Harry's shoulder bump was a silent challenge for a run, however, Ron had already started it. Laughing heartily in the process. Both, Harry and Hermione, began their pursuit in earnest. And within seconds they had closed the gap, another few seconds and they were ahead of him. Something which Ron did not like and he made this obvious with a shout.

Birds flew up when they neared and ran past them. Their startled sounds warnings for the other animals in the dunes.

Hermione was the first to veer off from the path, the other two echoed her decision. Now they weaved themselves in between the trees. This was no longer a game they played, it had become a survival practice, something which they had started doing every few days whilst they had been camping.

They made their run as difficult as they could handle; jumping over fallen trees and big branches, dodging bushes, big roots and whatnot, or even going so far as dodging imaginary curses and producing their own defensive or offensive magic. Meanwhile, each ran as fast as they could, as if the Devil himself was after and close behind them.

Harry and Hermione kept it up for a quarter of an hour, but thereafter their pace slowed down to a walk, albeit panting heavily. Ron, who had stopped sooner with the exercise, caught up with them.

Meanwhile, the Muggle-born concentrated on their magical surroundings. Closing her eyes in the process. They were still within the Wards. There had been more than one reason for her to veer off the road. For she had also wanted to create more distance between them and the edges of their safe haven.

Now that she knew they were still within the Wards, she said haughtily, "Do you two care to show me your abilities in a duel?" Bellatrix' wand was already in her hand. This would be an excellent way to truly experience how much control she had on the will of the wand's magic.

"Ha! Not afraid in the slightest that we best you, are you?" Ron remarked. Sweat dripped from his forehead down his face and on the ground.

Yet despite their warm bodies and heavy breathing, Harry summed up the rules, "Everyone for themselves. No use of dangerous spells or curses, we don't want to injure one another, just Stunners and the like. When rendered wandless it's 'game over'."

Everyone nodded their approval and searched for a starting spot, in the end, they formed an equilateral triangle.

"Ready?" Harry shouted, "Set... Go!"

At once Hermione sprang from her place, avoiding a jinx from Harry. She ran to her right and watched as Ron took advantage of this distraction and shot a spell towards Harry. The latter had predicted as much and effortlessly produced a Shield Charm, which allowed Hermione the time for a small sprint to close the distance.

She tried to use the environment to her advantage as much as she could. Trees and bushes became a shield against the spells that were propelled her way. All the while she used them just as much for her attacks.

However, at the moment she used it as an object to hide behind, as she waited for the right time to jump back into the fight. She heard the sizzling of spells that flew through the air, Harry and Ron were momentarily focussed solely upon one another.

As she dared her entrance, she emerged from behind her hiding spot, shielding herself from potential treats with a Protego. Once she found her footing, she conjured offensive spells and jinxes and immediately shot them towards Ron. Harry chose this moment to fade into the background now that Hermione and Ron were distracted.

The Muggle-born made sure her attacks came at full force. Each Stupefy was closely followed by an Expelliarmus. And she spiced it all up with some innocent jinxes in between her onslaught. There was not a moment of rest between the spells, nor a moment for Ron to catch his breath before the next wave of magic was shot his way.

He was surprised and disconcerted, for the impact of the spells which hit his shield forced him to stumble backward. He did his best to stand his ground, but he failed no matter how he placed his feet and body against the strength of offensive magic. Ron realized too late that he was completely at her mercy.

Hermione smiled triumphantly, confident in her victory. She had already planned how she would overpower him. The process had already started when an unexpected Expelliarmus shot her way. Harry had interrupted her attack successfully, for Hermione had to duck away from his magic. She thought in a split-second that she could use this for her escape and tried to jump behind the safety of a tree, but in mid-air, she was plunged backwards by an invisible rope around her feet, her wand fell from her grip. Game over.

Now she hung upside down and watched how Harry defeated Ron.

It brought her back to reality. As her adrenaline slowly faded. She knew which incantation Harry had used, Levicorpus, but the counter spell was unknown to her, which frustrated her greatly. Hermione could do little but wait. However, Harry made sure to entertain her.

He danced around Ron, who was obviously not pleased to be faced with another hurricane of spells. It did not take Harry long to defeat him though, something which pleased Hermione. For that meant she had done well in tiring Ron. She had made him bleed and Harry gave the killing blow. A Body-Bind Curse hit Ron's foot and his rigid form toppled backwards. The ground upon which he fell was uneven though and caused him to roll down the hill. Harry did not notice immediately for he had started to walk towards Hermione. However, when he noticed her wide eyes and expression he turned around to see what happened and dashed after Ron a few seconds later.

To watch Ron tumble down the hill with Harry running after him, desperate to catch up to him, reminded Hermione of old slapstick films. The ones she had watched with her father. And she enjoyed it immensely. When Ron finally stopped rolling with his face planted in the sand Hermione could no longer contain her laughter. Laughing upside down was a strange experience, yet it did not make it any less funny.

Ron was freed from his magical bounds and sat up gingerly, whilst Harry was already on his way to free Hermione from the invisible rope. And as he did she asked him to teach her the counter curse. He nodded and said he would after their next battle.

"Did Bellatrix' wand cause you any difficulty?" He asked.

"No, not really, though I doubt it will ever work _willingly_ for me." She said and continued after a moment, "However, what I am truly afraid of is when I have to face the woman herself, how will the wand react _then._ "

" _If_ you will ever have to face her again." Harry said firmly, suddenly his eyes burned with a promise, "And that won't ever happen if I have a say in it."

She silently watched him as Harry looked around them, almost as if Bellatrix would jump out of the bushes right that moment. Hermione was not taken aback by his statement, for she had expected a reaction like his from Harry, he had always been one ready to defend and fight at any given time. Yet, she had slight difficulty to come to the right answer. A 'thank you' was all she said in the end, with a barely visible smile on her lips.

She eyed Ron who slowly walked their way, whilst he still dusted the sand off his clothes.

Her eyes turned back to Harry, his eyes were on her. To lighten the mood she said, "Even though I handled Bellatrix' wand relatively well, you still won."

He smiled, "That was only because you were too focused on defeating Ron. Try to keep your mind open to your surroundings; don't become fixated on solely one person."

Hermione nodded, imprinting the lesson in her mind. They started to walk towards Ron, who grumbled when they were together, "I don't get how you two do it."

"Do what?" Harry asked.

"I think Ron does not like to lose, Harry," Hermione offered, "Am I right?"

He huffed and crossed his arms, staying silent.

"Let's start the second round, shall we?" Harry said, desperate to stop this conversation.

Hermione was determined to win this round, for she felt that she had to prove to everyone - but most of all herself - that she truly did have power over the wand. The first battle round had just been a warm-up, she told herself. The adrenaline that had faded from her system while hanging upside down, slowly returned as they took their positions. Again they formed an equilateral triangle. All three stood in the correct duelling position.

Harry counted down once more and then the second round started in a chaos of red, yellow and blue magic.

In her head, she kept reminding herself that she had to be constantly aware of her surroundings whilst she battled her opponents. As a result, she immediately spotted Ron, who tried to sneak up on her. She waited for a few breaths, as she deflected some of Harry's jinxes by sending them straight back at him, and when the time was right she shot some distracting spells him. They would merely buy her enough time to get out of his sight, which succeeded.

Hermione twirled around and dashed right at Ron, as she did she threw half a dozen heavy spells at him. He was startled, to say the least, yet was able to protect himself in the nick of time with a strong Protego. Though he had not been aware that this had just been a sly diversionary tactic from the Muggle-born. For around his feet, the roots of the bushes and trees that surrounded him had come to life and currently curled around his legs. And a split-second later, with a simple flick of her wand, the roots tightened around him. During his fall towards the ground, he was hit by an Expelliarmus and she gracefully caught his wand in her left hand.

However, the moment her fingers held the wooden object she created a magical whirlwind around herself, one wherein she stood in the middle of it, the eye of the hurricane. She vaguely noted Ron's shout - sand and dust had probably gotten into his eyes - but she did not pay it any mind, for she had created this barrier to hide from Harry. Because as she had tackled and overthrown Ron, she had been aware of the fact that Harry had freed himself from the tree that she had hexed to distract and attack him. Now, with the whirlwind, she could move herself to a more secure area.

Though when she had almost reached the spot she had in mind her whirlwind was magically sliced in half. Hermione ducked away from his spells and conjured a few of her own in retaliation. Harry deflected them, seemingly without any difficulty.

Their dance started, it was fast and uplifting. Both determined to win. Spells were shot and deflected.

Harry had a smile on his lips, yet sweat dripped from his brow. And Hermione too felt the sweat on her face and body.

What Harry had not anticipated for was a sudden explosion to his right, in a haste, he jumped to the left, all the while he kept his wand pointed to the right. He suspected another living tree to emerge from the smog. Yet when he landed on the ground he was immediately sucked into the earth, Harry's body was completely enveloped by the ground, only his head protruded above it. In vain he tried to wriggle himself free, but when he looked up a wand pointed directly at him. And the one handling it had an arrogant grin on her face.

He could not help but laugh at the sight, and before he knew it the ground pushed him upwards again. The Muggle-born helped him up. As he dusted himself off he said, "You did very well."

Hermione shrugged modestly, but her cheeks betrayed her true feelings, "I learned from the best."

"You always have been a fast learner."

They shared a high-five and started to walk back to where Ron was supposed to be. They had drifted further off from Ron than they had been aware of, which granted them a few moments alone. Yet they whispered as they talked, both aware that they did not want anybody to overhear them. Even though all they did was tell one another their thought process throughout their duel. However, before long they stood next to a struggling Ron. He had tried to untangle himself from the roots this whole time but had obviously failed. Harry freed him and Hermione watched in amusement. She still had his wand in her possession and handed it to him, somehow it did not surprise her that he could not bear to even congratulate her. _He is still a child and probably will be for the rest of his life._ She could barely refrain herself from rolling her eyes, yet she did. Another accomplishment of which she was proud.

The trio walked in silence. Ron brought with him an icy feeling, he was obviously not pleased. Though as time trickled on he became less frosty and before they arrived at the edge of the pine forest there was an easy banter between them. In the distance, they could already see the smoke of Shell Cottage twirl in the sky.

This was the point where Harry and Hermione halted, Ron turned around with the question clearly visible on his face. Harry was the one who elaborated, "Hermione wants me to teach her the counter spell to Levicorpus, but we best don't do that near Bill and Fleur. Since we will be hanging upside down quite a lot."

"Right," Ron put his hands in his pockets and turned his eyes from one to the other. Then he looked at their environment. And while Harry started to explain the hand movement of the spell, Ron decided that he would not hang around, instead, he started to head to Shell Cottage alone. He said as much before he walked away.

Thereafter the training resumed, Harry continued with the theory as if he had never been interrupted. Instructions which Hermione understood after the first explanation, then came the practical part. This was not too hard for the Muggle-born either, after ten minutes she could cast the counter spell without any difficulty from Bellatrix' wand, as well as wandless. And the act of non-verbal was halfway learned. She had felt that Bellatrix' wand had deliberately made it harder to learn, nonetheless. Either way, the most unpleasant thing during their practice was, for both of them, to be hung upside-down.

Yet when they called an end to it Hermione had still enough energy to run all the way back to the Cottage, or so it felt. Being outside had never before been so important and satisfying to her.

"How is your Occlumensy going?"

She sighed and answered, "Honestly? I have no idea. There are times that I can easily let go of my emotions and then there are moments that all I can do is _feel._ And given the fact that I can't practice with you invading my mind makes it impossible for me to know if I am on the right track."

He was silent for a moment, looking at the trees they passed as they slowly walked back to the Cottage. After a few minutes of silence, he said hesitantly, "Perhaps... We should just try it right now? I have done it before... I can cast the spell." The last bit he said with a bitter note in his voice. The memories of his sessions with Snape were likely still too fresh, even after all these months.

Hermione had hoped he would say this and needed no time to consider the option. Yet now that it was about to happen she did feel somewhat hesitant. However, Harry was one of the very few people in this world she trusted with her inner thoughts and memories.

They searched for a good spot and sat down opposite of each other, both with their legs crossed. Harry had his wand lying before him and said, "I never really got the hang of Occlumensy, as you know, but I am certain that it was because of the way it was taught to me. So, I want to do this differently than I have experienced."

Hermione nodded and had the usual look of concentration on her features. Her eyes were focused solely on him. They were still themselves - the thickest of friends - but right now their roles had shifted; she was the student and he had become her teacher.

"Close your eyes," Harry did so himself, the Muggle-born watched him and then followed his example, "take a slow, deep breath and feel how the air flows through your nose, into your body. In- and exhale like this for some time until you can truly feel it, put all your concentration in it. And when you are so far, when you are ready, you have to squeeze my fingers." After having said these words Hermione felt how Harry's left hand held her right. This was for practical reasons but she felt more secure with this. Now she would notice if Harry would leave or if he - God forbid - would be captured in complete silence. There were enough spells and charms to enable such an abduction. Thus, when she softly squeezed his fingers and felt them retract Hermione momentarily tightened her grip on them until she was certain that he would let his hand stay connected with hers.

"As you focus on your breathing, your mind will wander, but you have to let go of all those thoughts. And whenever you catch yourself thinking of other things just return to the sensation of your breathing. Don't get angry at yourself for getting distracted, just return your concentration back to breathing." Then he fell silent and did not speak again for a quarter of an hour. Around them nature still lived on, orchestrating all elements and noises into a melody. Yet she clearly heard Harry's whisper through it all, "I will cast the spell now, alright?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes still closed.

She heard the incantation and a moment later she felt a pressure around her; mentally and physically. Around her body, there was the slightest pressure, as if she was completely underwater. Instinct brought panic. She had to remind herself that this was not her nightmare, that she was awake and well. Yet an uneasy feeling stayed in her stomach.

Mentally she felt a sensation best described as a sort of prodding, an invisible force that tried to find her weak spots and to put pressure on them. Far more intrusive than the Sorting Hat.

The first time Harry was not yet able to handle the spell well, thus Hermione easily kept him out of her mind, but he got gradually better at it. Challenging Hermione to do the same, and, of course, she did.

During their training, Harry did catch glimpses of his friend's memories and thoughts, something which was a peculiar experience, for it was very different from his time in Snape's head. One reason was that Hermione had him out of her mind in the blink of an eye. The second reason was that these were mostly positive memories. He had known his friend had enjoyed a loving childhood, but now he could actually _feel_ and _see_ the memories – even if it was for just a second or two. Of course, she had also endured negative experiences through life, but he barely caught glimpses of those. Almost as if she had hidden them further away in the darkness of her being than her happy memories.

How long they had been going on neither one knew, but they had to merely look at one another to know that they had enough of it for today. Both had grown tired and were in desperate need of a shower and some fresh clothes. Something edible would not be unnecessary either.

Simultaneously they stood up and began to walk towards Shell Cottage. Both were deep in thought. One mulled over the snippets of memories from his best friend's life and the other had just realized how much Harry had grown from being a 'normal teenage boy' – something he had never truly been – to being a young adult. He truly was a natural teacher just as he was a natural duellist.

"So, what about you and Viktor?" Harry asked out of the blue.

Hermione presumed he asked this because he had seen a glimpse of the kiss they had shared on the night of the Yule Ball, yet she played dumb and said, "What about us?"

"Well, before we went on this hunt you two danced on Fleur and Bill's wedding and well," he hesitantly continued, "did you two break up after that?"

Hermione did not respond immediately, for she was momentarily back in Viktor's arms as they waltzed over the dancefloor together. She had felt so at home in his embrace. "No," her voice had become soft, "no, we are still together." She paused, then a small smile came on her lips, "He was being silly as we danced and made me promise to get through this alive. Of course, I promised him, but he would not listen when I said that my promises could be broken by another one's doing." Viktor had promised the same to her - that he would get through this war alive as well - and that he would fight against Voldemort from his country, he planned to form an Order akin to the one in Britain. But Harry knew the latter already, for she had informed him of it after they had successfully escaped from the wedding.

Harry patted her shoulder tenderly and smiled in a way he hoped looked encouraging. What was there to say? Naturally, he hoped that they all would survive, but would they be that lucky?

A heavy sigh escaped Hermione, she did not like to ponder over these subjects. She was of the opinion that she had cried over Viktor and her parents' well-being, and the state of the world in general enough of nights already.

"I am sorry, I did not want to make you gloomy."

She forced a smile, one that did not convince Harry at all. He did not comment on it, but Hermione saw it in his eyes.

She did not ask about Ginny since she had already heard the story. The first years of their friendship Harry had always been vague regarding his feelings - for Ginny and other girls - but lately, when Hermione asked him about it she got straightforward answers. He had even asked for advice on his own accord.

Both fell back into their own memories, their silence was not uncomfortable, not for a single moment all the way back to the Cottage.

Ron sat outside the house on a bench near the front door with a sandwich in his hand and a full mouth. He waved enthusiastically when he saw them approaching. A bit of decent food always did wonders to his temper. Harry sat down beside him, Hermione stayed on her feet and looked back at the forest. Despite her tiredness, she already wanted to go back and better her duelling skills.

The Muggle-born absentmindedly noted that Harry and Ron talked, yet she interrupted them by asking, "Could we continue practising this evening?"

Harry nodded and said he had been thinking the same thing, but first he thought it best for them to have a little break.

Ron grumbled at the two, his merry mood immediately lost, and said sarcastically, "Why not invite all the others as well, surely they would love to be blasted to the other side of the beach?"

"That's a brilliant idea, Ron!" exclaimed Hermione. "That would bring a variety to the duels, I mean, we can practically predict each other's next step as it is."

"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered darkly and took another bite of his sandwich.

Hermione heard this and narrowed her eyes at his voice, but Harry interrupted whatever was to come. "You don't have to join us if you don't want to, Ron. We don't demand your participation."

"Right," Ron drawled, "Anyway, I was being sarcastic, Hermione, you know, saying something without meaning it?"

"It does not matter how you meant it, nor do I care," Hermione said. She did not snap her retort - something which she would have done a mere year ago - her voice was void of any emotion, almost as if she was too tired for bickering. "What do you think of it, Harry?"

He nodded his approval.

* * *

Harry and Hermione were welcomed back by a lively Fleur as they entered the house. She had an endearing smile on her lips, one which told Hermione enough: the quarter-Veela had been worried. Which was not surprising, anyone would be when the previous time one of the 'hikers' had returned on the verge of being comatose from a mere stroll.

"Perfect timing. The soup ees almost ready to be served. Though, please refresh yourselves before you sit down, you stink of dried up sweat," Fleur said laughing. It made Hermione smile as she watched the quarter-Veela. Harry grinned and dragged the Muggle-born with him upstairs.

The lunch was enjoyed with small talk. Hermione kept to the background, a habit that slowly began to grow on her.

Everyone went their own way when lunch was over and the dishes were taken care of.

Hermione chose the living room as her place to rest. A book about dark magic in hand, yet as she sat down in the corner of the couch with her legs tucked underneath herself, all she did was stare at the cover. Her thoughts blank, something that did not happen often. Slowly she leaned sideways into the backrest and before long she was like a curled-up mammal.

The blankness of her mind evaporated like snow before the sun. In her curled-up state, her thoughts went a thousand miles an hour. She pondered about all the training and exercises she had done this morning, the tips and tricks Harry had given her. For the next duelling round, Hermione wanted new strategies, since she obviously wanted to win. She thought of different approaches and other, more difficult, spells to cast. But most of all her mind lingered on the Occlumency lessons. Harry's instructions had been so calm, if she would not know any better she would think him a master of the skill.

With her mind so far from reality the sound of another's voice startled her, even though it was in such a pleasant language. _"You know, usually when someone tries to sleep they close their eyes and don't overwork their brains."_

Humour was clearly evident in Fleur's voice.

Hermione felt the couch dip on the other side, she sat up so she could watch the woman in amusement, _"_ _And what makes you think I did not try?"_

 _"Well, it looked more like you had a mental breakdown, in the way you laid there curled up like a kitten."_ Fleur was teasing, Hermione was sure of it, yet there was a certain glimmer in her eyes. The younger woman did not want to see it, she averted her eyes and kept the conversation light.

 _"I will warn you next time I decide to have a moment of self-reflection,"_ Hermione attempted to smile, which earned her an eye roll. Thereafter they were silent, but she broke it soon enough, _"Do you have any ideas on how I could become a better Occlumens? Besides the usual 'keep all your emotions at bay' part."_

Fleur frowned a bit and looked at the fire that crackled in the fireplace. Hermione kept her eyes on her companion and observed every facial feature. She had not studied Fleur's profile that often.

Her eyes travelled from her chin along her jaw to her ear - only visible since Fleur had braided her hair today. A braid that hung over one shoulder, with a few loose strands of hair that were tucked behind her ears. Dark blond eyebrows were set in a frown. It was the eyes that made Hermione falter in her observation. As Hermione recollected Fleur's eyes from all her days of being holed up in the house they were very expressive. Of course, they mostly conveyed the French woman's arrogance, but if one looked carefully they could see a magnificent play of other emotions.

Strangely enough, Hermione had not been bothered by Fleur's arrogance since the very first time she had awakened here. Something which had been different in the past, during which Hermione had been affronted by the natural confidence the French woman carried. Now the Muggle-born could shrug it off and instead enjoy Fleur's other aspects; her witty remarks and sharp intellect, the incredible amount of knowledge she had and all the interests they shared, or the discussions whenever they differed in their opinions. Thereby came the fact that the arrogance was not an unjustified illusion, for Fleur was and would always be beautiful. Though Hermione could now see the curse it brought forth with it. She assumed she had been too young - and jealous too - to see and acknowledge this back in her fourth year and during the summers they had both been at the Burrow.

 _"Your look is very intense, 'Ermione. If you keep scrutinizing me like that you will make me blush."_ A wink accompanied the words. Being caught in the act made the younger woman blush and she averted her eyes. However, the gentle smile on Fleur's lips made Hermione feel less sheepishly.

 _"Anyway, let's return to your question. No, I don't think I can add anything of interest to your knowledge. Other than that both skills are not taught at Beauxbatons. Which does not mean I have not mastered Occlumency, of course. I can perform it quite well, actually."_ At this Fleur presented a proud smile, " _Though I did it with the normal training material: keep your mind far apart from your emotions and envision yourself in a fortification. Maybe you should try just that? Create for yourself a set of walls as strong as you think you need to keep others from penetrating your thoughts? I bet you have not tried that yet, hm?"_

Hermione thought about it and slowly shook her head, she had not yet tried such a tactic. The Muggle-born stared at nothing whilst she mulled it over in her mind, only when she blinked did her eyes focus again and saw that Fleur had turned her attention to her journal.

At some point these past few days the French woman had told Hermione about the journal she kept on Hermione's whereabouts and the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse in general. At first, she had not known what to think of it. Since she had not been really comfortable knowing that what she experienced was being documented in detail. However, after a night's sleep, she had grown eager to help. This journal was not about her, but about what ailed her. It was for bettering treatment. And that was something Hermione would always encourage.

With curiosity written all over her face, Hermione leaned closer to read the open pages. That they were in French did not surprise her one bit. Fleur's handwriting was as flowing as the language sounded.

When she caught a waft of the famous Veela odour Hermione slowly sat back in her seat. She made sure her movement was not in haste, as to not alarm Fleur, but she did find it puzzling that the odour penetrated the air so sporadically. Normally Fleur was perfectly able to keep control over it, or at least that was what Hermione assumed. Except during their argument, of course, but those were moments wherein control over emotions - thus, also her Veela's abilities - was easily lost.

For a moment she observed Fleur again, who did not look any different than before Hermione had caught the Veela's odour. She almost started to doubt her own senses; then again, she could never make the scent up in her fantasies. Still, it could be Fleur's natural scent, something one could only smell when coming close enough.

Hermione took the forgotten book on her lap and opened it. Yet even before she read the first word she said, _"I bet I could beat you in a duel."_ She suppressed a sly smile, she did not move her eyes from the paper.

Fleur's pride was prodded, with one raised eyebrow and unbelieving eyes she said, _"You don't know what you are talking about, 'Ermione."_

 _"Well, what about a duel then? This evening?"_ Light brown eyes sparkled with a promise, Hermione wanted to show Fleur what she is made of, that she could fight and defend herself just as well as Harry or any other duellist. Now that Hermione knew she could truly handle Bellatrix' wand she wanted to show what she was capable of. To Fleur most of all, because she had seen and tended to Hermione at her weakest. Of course, she would not say this, she did not even acknowledge this to herself.

 _"You are taunting me, I am aware, but if I did not know you any better I would teach you a bit humility right here and now, 'Ermione."_ A shake of the head accompanied the words.

 _"So you say,"_ the younger one said happily.

* * *

As evening fell the two women made their way on the shore. Fleur groaned when she learned that she and Hermione would not be the only ones to be duelling. All the others already stood chatting on the sand, William and Dean included. They obviously talked about the upcoming duel, for Dean was posing in fighting stances and the others pointed at several things in his position.

 _"And you said that I am evil? All the while you lure me into a trap, making me believe it will only be the two of us battling, yet here I find out that I have to win from all these boys as well."_ Fleur shook her head and looked sideways at her companion.

Hermione chuckled, _"You will survive, I have no doubt in your abilities."_

When they arrived Hermione could not help but feel more secure with Harry beside her. It was still weird - even after being here for all these days in Shell Cottage - to be apart from him. And she knew he shared her opinion about this since they had both voiced these feelings to one another a few nights before. They had also acknowledged that it was just something they had to get used to after so many months being constantly around each other. However, this did not mean it was easy.

Right after the exchanged 'hello's' Harry noted aloud that Luna was not with them. Fleur shook her head and motioned to the pine forest, "She went on a stroll about an 'our ago."

Hermione caught the sparkle in his eyes and even before he took the first step she already knew he would search for the Ravenclaw and most likely return with her. A knowing smile appeared on her lips, which she covered with her hand, pretending to yawn.

Meanwhile, the group did not take long before they started their first duel.

Everyone for themselves, no use of dangerous magic and once one is rendered wandless they lose. The same rules as before. However, certainly not the same battles as before. With so many people to battle, all at once, Hermione felt as if chaos had ensued. Yet she was able to defend herself, to battle and to win.

From the handful of battles that took place in Harry and Luna's absence, Hermione was not once the first to be rendered wandless. In fact, she came out as the winner two times, had one draw with Fleur, was placed second once (with Fleur being the triumphant winner) and one time being third (with William flashing a dangerous grin as he caught Hermione's wand, however, he had not anticipated Fleur's harsh speed, which gave her the first place once again).

To say that she was proud of her accomplishments was quite the understatement, the Muggle-born practically glowed with happiness. However, this accomplishment made her realize that their departure was due a few days. She made a mental note to stop postponing a certain conversation she wanted to have.

The group had started with these battles more than half an hour ago and Hermione began to feel tired. At first, she thought she was the only one, but closer observations made her notice the sheen of sweat on William's forehead and the other's too showed signs of feeling a little battered.

Yet, another round started. Hermione promised herself that this one would be her last for today.

William overruled his younger brother fairly soon. Even whilst being in combat Hermione noted the growing frustration in the youngest Weasley. Dean was defeated soon thereafter, being disarmed by Fleur, stealing the beautiful victory from Hermione, who had been battling the boy fiercely.

Then William, Fleur and Hermione battled each other all at once. The colours of their spells and hexes created a weirdly shaped triangle.

It was Harry's completely unexpected entrance which had Hermione off balance and ultimately on the losing end. She was able to produce a strong Protego against both Fleur and William's magic, but Harry was too fast. His Expelliarmus had her wand flying right into his waiting hand.

He flashed her an apologetic smile before his eyes hardened and his whole concentration was set on the battle.

Hermione sighed in defeat and made her way to where Dean and Ron had been sitting. However, Ron was no longer there and instead her dearest Ravenclaw had joined the sidelines. With a sudden jump in her trot, the Muggle-born made her way to them.

* * *

While Harry ran right into the duel, Luna decided she wanted to wait for the next round to start and instead joined Dean. She sat down beside him and together they watched magic fly through the air.

After some time she asked, "So how have the duels been going?"

Dean had a bitter note in his voice, though he did his best to hide it, "I was not able to win once. Well, I did win from Ron, but so did he from me. The others, on the other hand, are impossible to defeat."

Luna nodded and looked around them, searching, "Now that you mention him... Where _is_ Ronald?"

"Erm, he went back to the house, saying something about getting us some water." Dean was silent for a moment as if he was not sure if he should indulge Luna with his own thoughts. In the end, he must have decided it safe enough, for he continued just a tad bit hesitant, "Though I got the feeling that he was having a hard time. Wanted to be alone for a moment, I suppose..." He trailed off. Dean's form tensed. His eyes grew restless, he glanced from one place to the other. And his hands became fidgety. Luna assumed this was because he felt partially responsible. She observed it all, yet said nothing.

However, the Ravenclaw was completely unaware that her silence gave Dean the impression that the matter was of no interest to her. The air between them grew awkward and it stayed like this even when she averted her eyes back to the battle. To her happy surprise, she witnessed how Hermione was able to defend herself against _three_ opponents at the same time. The Muggle-born had learned to trust her instincts better, she had grown faster since the last time Luna had seen her battle. However, Luna could still practically _hear_ Hermione's thoughts; knew how she constantly thought of every possible escape, different footing or the next spell. And this made her still a fragment too slow. One of Harry's spells hit her and made Bellatrix' wand fly from her grip.

Luna pondered about Hermione's movements. There still lacked something, a last bit of trust in herself. Her movements were always calculated, every step that she took in battle had gone through various tests in her head. It made her a (split-) second too slow. _Is there a way to undo this, to make a difference in the way to think?_

The Ravenclaw watched Hermione's step get a little jump when their eyes met.

At the same time, Dean said that he would go after Ron, to help him with the water. She nodded and he stood to leave. His vacated seat was filled again within the blink of an eye.

* * *

Hermione sat down gingerly, her body had begun to feel quite sore. "Hey there, you were on your own for quite some time."

Luna hummed, "I lost track of time while I was in the forest."

The Muggle-born wrapped her arms around her legs and let her chin lay on her knee. After which she forced herself to in- and exhale slowly, to return some calm to her body. As she did this she grew aware of loose strands that had escaped her ponytail during combat and how they were plastered against her sweaty skin. _I am probably a sight to behold,_ the sarcasm was heavy in her own mind. Yet she did not do anything about it. Instead, she focussed her on the battle. Whilst she watched she could not help but ask, "Why didn't you join the duel like Harry?"

"Dean sat here, all by himself. So I thought, why not join him instead?"

Hermione hummed since she was unable to nod. When she let go of her legs she crossed them and settled her hand on her knees. Though soon she had found a small piece of wood to fidget with.

She wanted to ask something but knew Luna would immediately know the feelings behind her question. Yet she also knew her friend would not judge her for them. In the end, Hermione mustered enough of Gryffindor's bravery to give voice to her inner demons, "If I may ask, did Harry find you soon?"

Bleak grey eyes turned to the Muggle-born and observed her in silence. Neutrality and serenity were all that they radiated for a moment, then, a split-second later, apprehension. "Your eyes have this genuine curiosity in them, but your fidgety fingers and shifting body tells a different tale. I detect a bit of jealousy."

An embarrassed grimace graced Hermione's face.

Luna continued, her voice as gentle as always, "I went to the forest to search for seeds. At some point, Harry found me and told me of the duels. So together we walked to where he had come from. During which we talked about several things; Dumbledore was a tough subject for him, thus we talked mostly about the Deathly Hallows. He was eager to hear my opinion about them."

Hermione hummed again. And pondered if it was weird to feel jealousy - though it was barely worth mentioning - because her two friends were being friendly with one another. _Yes, it must be weird,_ she sighed and scooted closer to Luna so that she could hear her whisper, "I am sorry for being silly."

Luna sighed as well, though hers sounded as if there lingered tiredness within her. "Please, don't be sorry, Hermione." There was silence, they both had their eyes on the spectacle before them. Fleur had the two men dancing around, her victory was almost inevitable.

"When one person goes through an intense experience with another being they tend to bond on a very basal and intimate basis, even if they are complete opposites in character. And since the latter is not the case between you and Harry, that bond is easily able to form itself into a relationship - or friendship - that is best described as being intense. You even seem to communicate without words at times.

"So yes, you were silly, but that is only healthy after all that you two have gone through. Stop apologizing for your protectiveness."

The Muggle-born laid her head on Luna's shoulder blade and closed her eyes. She heard and felt the vibrations of Luna's soft chuckle.

They sat like this for a minute, but Luna's voice broke their moment. "Hermione, Fleur is coming."

The Muggle-born briefly wondered what would happen if she would just stay like this, but as soon as the thought entered her mind she discarded it and sat upright. _Why would I even think of such a thing?_ Hermione mused about this when her eyes settled on the quarter-Veela. The woman looked annoyed. And to be honest the Muggle-born was actually surprised to see that she had been defeated, the last time she had watched the duel it had looked as if she was on the verge of winning the round.

"You did well, Fleur." Luna chimed when the French woman sat down at the other side of her.

An annoyed hum was the response; one Hermione could barely hear. She could not help but lean forward so that she could see Fleur, and in a teasing tone, "Did they hurt your pride?"

Fleur raised one eyebrow, and asked rhetoric question, "Are you familiar with the proverbial phrase 'the pot calling the kettle black', _'_ Ermione?"

"Auch," Hermione showed her an innocent smile.

The older woman narrowed her eyes, then she stuck out her tongue and looked back at the duel between her husband and Harry. It made Luna laugh, who had watched the exchange.

All of a sudden Fleur said, "Let's ambush them."

Hermione's surprise was evident in her features, "But they are still -"

Luna cut her off, "Death Eaters are not people who play fair," she pointed out, "In some way, it is only realistic if we choose to ambush Harry and William now. Unfair it is, but realistic all the same."

The Muggle-born bit on her lip, a frown settled on her face as. She had promised herself that it had been her last duel for today, but quitting now... "You are right, let's kick their arses!"

Both Fleur and Hermione did not have their wands, for those sat securely in Harry's pockets, thus they had to assault with wandless magic.

Hermione smiled at Harry's shocked expression as she shot a warning spell at his feet. Fleur had a wicked grin on her lips as her eyes locked with William, she loved to challenge him. And Luna hummed happily as non-verbal magic shot from her wand and crashed right into both men's Protego Duo.

"That's not fair ladies!" Bill shouted as he deflected Fleur's jinxes.

"'Ush, mon loup, what gave you the impression that life ees fair?"

And with that, a whole different sort of duel started. The five of them battled, but there were humour and joy in their features. They could smile about their own mishaps and actually pointed out weak spots of the opponent before exploiting them.

This did not eliminate the fact that they all wanted to win, of course.

The most significant difference was that they had, unconsciously, formed two groups: the classic male versus female. This would have been unfair if both Fleur and Hermione had their wands, but since they did not, the formations were quite equal. For their magic may be just as strong as with a wand, but conjuring and directing it was a lot harder. Stray spells and jinxes were no longer rare occurrences.

At some point Hermione saw that Ron and Dean approached the battle at a run, likely wanting to play the rescuers of the male group. It did not seem as if Harry or William had any clue of them coming to help since they had their backs turned to them.

A sly glimmer emerged in her eyes. They made it too easy for her. For a few moments longer, she pretended not to have seen them, and shot more stray charms towards Harry, but, in reality, she made sure the spells strayed from the battlefield and hit the sand, in the direction of the two newcomers. She could not defend herself at the same time, for these spells had difficult movements that needed to be repeated several times over. Luckily Fleur and Luna covered her.

Then she shot a few easy jinxes, ran a bit to the left, dodged all that was shot her way and that was when she threw a handful of Expelliarmusses towards Ron and Dean. Both thought to be able to dodge them by speeding up forward, but the moment their feet hit the ground in the radius of Hermione's 'stray spells' the sand beneath them sucked them down till slightly above their knees. Arms of sand shot upwards and grabbed their limbs and clothes. And a second later two Expelliarmusses hit their marks.

Hermione did not have time to catch their wands, thus they dropped unceremoniously on the ground around her feet, for William was determined to triumph over her in her moment of weakness. A frown of concentration was on her face as she blasted each jinx away and even managed to stir a few right back at him.

Her breath was shallow and sweat trickled down her body. At the moment she could not do anything but defend herself. To start a new attack so soon was too much to ask from her body.

The duel was still fully alive, everyone blasted spells and conjured shields. They all had the drive to win within them. Smiles of a daring nature or frowns of concentration were on all their faces.

Yet an angry shout made everyone pause in their movements.

"Bloody fucking Hell, Hermione! What is your problem?!"

She did not turn at once, for she wanted to be sure no last spells would hit her. When she concluded it safe she turned slowly around to face a very angry Ron. She already felt annoyance flare up for the youngest Weasley, yet managed to ask in a neutral tone, only slightly raised so he could hear her, "What _did_ I do wrong, Ron?"

All the others kept silent and watched the scene unfold, though they began to close the distance between them all. The duel was completely forgotten. Now that the clamour of battle had disappeared everyone grew aware of the howling wind coming from the ocean.

"You know perfectly well what I mean!" Ron screeched, he tried to free himself from the sand by pulling and struggling, but nothing worked which only added to his ire.

The Muggle-born narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaws. She had seen this outburst coming for days. And all this time she had tried to navigate around and away from Ron to not be the one that would trigger his anger, but, of course, all this caution had not been enough.

Her self-worth would not allow that he could disparage her. Thus, she decided to let the sand's enchantment dissolve. However, William had clearly thought it best to help the boys sooner, with a flick of his wand and a simple command the charm broke. The dozen arms that kept both Dean and Ron in their place all turned into lifeless heaps. Dean straightened and dusted himself off. He did not share the same accusations as Ron had against her.

The youngest Weasley came several steps towards her and yelled, "Every time we start a duel you are determined to -"

She did not let his idiotic rambling continue, "No! How dare you accuse me of purposefully ruling you out?! All I want is to win, just like -"

"Without playing fair!" He spat and pointed at her with an aggressive finger in her direction. "You won't even give me a chance!"

"What you try to accuse me of is actually called _strategy_ , Ronald! One eliminates their opponents one by one, defeating the _weakest_ first. Besides I am hardly the only one to render you wandless." Her snide remarks had passed her lips before she could keep her mouth shut.

Seconds ticked on, the howling wind was all that met her words. She had verbally lashed out at Ron's Achilles heel. He was shocked. Then his anger returned in his features, accompanied by pain and doubt.

Hermione did not try to take her words back, nor did she show any remorse in her features. She did not say a thing. Yet Ron yelled at her to 'Shut the fucking Hell up' as if she had tried to apologize nonetheless. Still, she did not stir a muscle; her eyes did not move away from his. She would not budge and she was not scared. Bellatrix had been far worse.

At last Ron decided to have had enough, he turned his back on her and stormed away, towards the Cottage.

The Muggle-born did not do anything, she stood still and let the wind pull at her clothing and hair all it wanted.

Meanwhile, the others were not as stoic. Dean looked uncertain between all of them, pointed towards the two wands on the ground and said in a miserable voice that he would take care of that. William sighed heavily, his 'fatherly frown' back in place. It was obvious he had enjoyed the duels and regretted that he had to be the elder brother once more. He said that Hermione should not worry, that it was not her fault and then ran after his younger brother.

Harry, Luna and Fleur came to stand next to her. She was not the wounded party, for she had slashed back with harsh words, purposefully hitting Ron where she knew it hurts him most.

"Pardon my language, but that boy needs to grow up." Fleur sniffed and crossed her arms defiantly, as she watched her husband run after Ron.

Harry simply shook his head and shrugged; he knew it was not that simple. Hermione and Ron had years of arguments behind them. His friends had always had this weird way of communicating. Though this outburst of Ron had certainly not been fair. Harry had noticed the agitated tension between the two and knew that it came from Hermione's evasive nature regarding Ron. But this was not reason enough for Ron to act the way he had just now.

Harry looked at her, "You alright, Hermione?" He stepped closer and caressed her shoulder tenderly before he let his hand land on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. She nodded and finally looked him in the eyes. That was enough for him to know that she wanted to be alone for now. He sighed, yet nodded all the same. He did not like the idea of her being alone, but then again, he knew exactly how she felt. Thus, he made sure she could hear and see his concern when he said, "I will go to Ron. Please don't wander off too far." He gave her Bellatrix' wand back and started to walk to the Cottage.

Both Fleur and Luna had followed every single comment and gesture between these two. The latter did not hesitate to follow Harry, for if he gave Hermione space she knew that this was truly what the Muggle-born wanted. However, before Luna followed him she leaned against her friend and stayed like that for a few seconds without saying anything. Then she hummed and skipped after Harry.

The quarter-Veela, on the other hand, would not follow their example.

_"Please do not shut me out, 'Ermione."_

Hermione looked sideways, her eyes gave away the puzzlement she felt towards the French woman. Where did this come from?

How long had they known each other? A few years. Yet, they had truly started interacting these past few days. Nevertheless, this woman had waltzed right through all Hermione's mental walls as if they were made of nothing but thin crepe paper. And now Fleur pleaded that she did not want to leave her, even though Hermione had indicated that she wanted to be.

Stranger still was that Fleur had apparently become dear enough already for Hermione to actually consider relenting. But after a few seconds, she averted her eyes to the ground and shook her head.

This hurt the quarter-Veela, and it was easily read in her blue eyes, but Hermione did not see it, for she was not brave enough to look back at her. Instead, her brown eyes roamed over the unruly sea and slowly they travelled to the pine forest. She longed for Hogwarts' Library, the one place where she had hidden herself a hundred of times after one of her many arguments with Ron, or, on rare occasions, after an argument with Harry or Luna.

At last, she opened her mouth and moved her lips, _"I will return shortly, don't worry, I won't venture too far."_ She met Fleur's eyes and tried to convey her sincere apologies, but doubted that it did any good.

Fleur sighed and walked away without another word. It made the French woman all the more a mystery to Hermione.

The Muggle-born felt incredibly lonely. Which was exactly what she had wanted, though it still stung. She turned her back towards Shell Cottage and walked a bit over the shore, further away from the others. Her thoughts kept repeating the last quarter of an hour. Had she done right with verbally defending herself against Ron as she had? Was she truly shutting out her friends at this moment, or was Fleur just being silly?

As her thoughts repeated, battled and pondered an uneasy feeling settled inside her. Something more stirred within her. And she wanted it all gone.

Slowly other things - her worst fears and most embarrassing and angry memories - mixed themselves with her current struggles. Old shadows were reawakened within her and grew in intensity with every step she took as if they had all happened this last hour. The further she walked the more she felt unsettled. Unconsciously the young woman felt the need to unleash it all, to give all the reigns up that kept her rational mind together since the morning after the torture session. Ron's outburst had set something in her alight. She did not know what, but it burned her from inside out.

A spark could be enough to set fire to a complete forest, as long as it was dry enough.

Despair made her suddenly sprint with renewed adrenaline in her body. Her surroundings got blurred, her eyes were unfocused.

And just as suddenly, she halted, for she realized that this feeling would not simply disappear, no matter how long she would run.

With a sigh filled with exhaustion, she tried to rearrange her thoughts. Her arms hung at her side, her hands restlessly twitching. What was bothering her, and more importantly what was happening to her?

Images of all her loved ones, dead. The reality of the war that was actually happening right now, while all they had done these days was hide and train and have some fun. Meanwhile, people were hunted for their blood and ideals, tortured, raped and mass murdered. Innocent people died. If not by someone's hand then by hunger.

Hermione closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, tried to focus, but all that she could register in her mind was the chaos within and the onslaught of prickles that travelled over her skin that came forth of it. Her magic had begun to be just as unruly as the thoughts and images in her head.

And a burning pain in her left underarm did not let her forget that she was hunted as well.

Hermione was having a panic attack.

She was completely in the ban of her own sensations and thoughts, unaware of the growing strength of the wind and the rapidly darkening surroundings. Grey clouds circled above her, the sun's light blocked out. Not a single bird dared to share its song, there were no animals around at all.

The woman grew unaware of even herself. Shadows danced before her eyes and blank was her mind.

* * *

The lonely figure on the shore stood in the eye of the growing beginnings of a storm.

Seawater lapped at their shoes, drenched all it came in contact with.

In the air, an invisible force shifted and made ripples disturb the environment.

Their hands no longer twitched, they were ready to create an outburst of magic.

Suddenly a scream came from their mouth. One that could only be described as inhuman, yet it came from a person nonetheless; for the sounds came forth of all the horrible feelings one could experience in a lifetime.

And as they screamed their hands shot upwards as if to curse the sky itself. From their fingers came magic of an uncertain colour. It crackled and then exploded.

The loudest thunder ripped through the clouds and it shook all that was beneath it. Soon followed by more.

The lonely figure stood not only in the eye of it all, but this broken person was also the creator of this chaos.

* * *

Her hands fell down again. The thunder had awakened her from whatever trance she had been in.

Around her, the world was covered with a million droplets, rain.

A flash. And a split-second later a horrendous bang. Lightning and thunder followed one another in fast succession. One after the other.

Hermione granted herself a moment of weakness. She had not cried herself to sleep for a long time, had only an hour of grieving over Dobby, thus she let her shoulders shake and her body tremble whilst tears fell from her eyes and sobs came from her lips.

* * *

Fleur tended to the herbs in the garden. Hermione took to stand beside the fence and watched the quarter-Veela work. The older woman had a charm conjured that protected her from the onslaught of raindrops. Hermione could have done the same but she was too exhausted to care.

There was not anything in Fleur's behaviour which indicated that she knew Hermione was there, yet the Muggle-born doubted that to be true.

Hermione was aware that her watching could be considered creepy, but she did not know what to say or do. In the end, she decided that she should take the initiative either way. _"Please, do not be mad at me, Fleur."_

Said person did not stir in her proceedings, nor did she look up. At least not at once. When she finally straightened herself, Fleur turned and observed Hermione for a while.

 _"Of course I am not mad,"_ she said and walked to her, though Fleur did not step out of her garden. They faced each other, stood in each other's personal space, yet the fence kept them apart. Dark blue eyes told of what the quarter-Veela did feel. It made Hermione uncertain, she averted her eyes, unconvinced that she could handle the disappointment - or was it hurt she had seen? - and concern any longer.

 _"If one would not know you, they would say that you are quite the drama queen,"_ Fleur tried to lighten the mood, yet still wanted to let Hermione know that she knew this storm was not one made by nature.

The Muggle-born read between the lines and knew when she was caught red-handed. She chuckled, though the sound was hollow and unconvincing, _"Isn't that more your forte?"_

Fleur's smile was a sad one. _"May I hug you?"_

Her surprise was visible in her features before she could suppress it. No one had ever _asked_ her if they could hug her, people usually just did. After a moment of hesitation - forthcoming from her confusion - Hermione nodded.

Arms were wrapped gently around her shoulders, with the body came warmth. And as Hermione sneaked her arms around Fleur's torso she felt how several charms worked their way over her body and clothing. A tingling over her skin accompanied them.

Her clothes, of which every single fibre had been drenched by the sea and rain, dried from head to toe. Her hair no longer hung down, dripping from all the water, but was its curly self. No raindrops could hit her anymore, as she had now the same shield against them as Fleur.

Silver-blonde hair tickled her nose but also brought Fleur's scent with them and Hermione could not help but enjoy its aroma's as they filled her nose. Then a strange realisation hit her, this was the first time that they shared an embrace. Despite everything that had happened she had never been this close to Fleur.

* * *

"I am back," she said in the hall and got a chorus of 'welcome back's'. Though as she kicked off her boots and hung her jacket back on the coat rack she made her way straight to the stairs. She wanted to shower, but as she walked past the bathroom she heard that someone else was already enjoying it. Hermione ran a hand through her hair, feeling slightly disappointed. Then she made up her mind and ascended the second staircase to the top floor of the Cottage.

The Muggle-born had not been here before, yet she knew from Fleur's stories that the door to her left was of Griphook's room. Thus, the only remaining room for Ollivander to inhabit was the one on her right.

She stood before the door in an uncertain manner. Could she just interrupt the wandmaker like this? What if he was sleeping? This was the conversation she had been postponing all this time. And here she stood in front of the wandmaker's door.

A moment later she knocked on the painted wood, the silence that followed felt deafening to her ears. Despite the feeling that she was completely out of her comfort zone Hermione opted to knock a second time on the door. And this made noises come to life on the other side. As it opened a soft squeak came from the hinges.

The man who opened the door looked definitely older than she remembered. When she had bought her wand in his shop he had a mix of grey strands within his dark brown hair, in the years that had followed, it had become completely white. Though despite his age he still had quite a tuft of hairs on the top of his head. And it sprouted in every direction. All in all, it was quite a funny sight.

"Ah, Miss Granger! What a pleasant surprise." His voice, on the other hand, had not changed one bit. "It has been some years since I last laid eyes on you, hasn't it? I have been wondering if I would see any of the youngsters that roam in this house, but until now only Fleur and William have visited for a chat. One of them must have scared you lot off, for my wellbeing I suppose. A bit too concerned, don't you think? They mean well, of course, and I appreciate every effort they make. I haven't been the best company either, I sleep a lot you see..." His ramblings went on until he noticed that his guest still stood in the doorpost, unsure of what to do, while he had already repositioned himself in his chair near the window. He looked at her expectantly and waited, but as nothing happened he beckoned for her to walk into the room and make herself comfortable.

She did so by closing the door behind her and transfigured a vase into a stool for her to sit on. Meanwhile, the man told her about the different dreams he had been having lately. Though when silence fell Hermione took her chance, "Good day, Mr. Ollivander. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions?"

"Of course, girl! I was of the impression that was already obvious, isn't it?" He smiled broadly, showing off the teeth he was missing. "I hope you don't mind the curtains closed, the weather is dreadful outside." A flash, mostly obscured by said curtains, and the loud bang of the thunder emphasised his words. One could hear all the raindrops that hit the roof.

A blush spread across Hermione's cheeks, this went unnoticed by the wandmaker, however, for he was telling her of other enormous storms he had experienced in his life.

Then suddenly the man cut himself off mid-sentence, the faraway look in his eyes replaced by the twinkle of happiness. "Since the moment you walked out of my shop with your newly bought wand I have wondered when you would reappear on my doorstep - of my shop, of course."

"Why is that, sir?" Surprise and intrigue evident in her voice.

He clapped in his hands, "Ha! I like to surprise people. Oh, but nothing I said is untrue. No, no, no. Certainly not."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, she was slightly puzzled by Ollivander's behaviour. Had he gone bonkers whilst being a captive in the cellars of Malfoy Manor? Or was he simply teasing? She decided that she would look for articles about his life and find out his age once she had the time... and the resources.

All this time she stayed silent and granted the man to collect his thoughts. A faint smile was still on his lips as he began his tale, "A wand has its own magic, its own energy. And it is the wand who chooses its witch or wizard, not the other way around. Or - if one is of the opinion that such truth is too harshly formulated - they, the wands, search for the most fitting harmony a wandholder can give when both their magics have to work together.

"But you are aware of this already, am I right, Miss Granger?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "However, what you don't know is what I am about to share with you. I am willing to part with some facts few people other than wandmakers know of, thus I expect you to be very discreet with this knowledge. Can I trust you on your word?"

Hermione sat on the edge of her chair. This was far from what she had expected when she had decided to pay the visit to Ollivander. Her curiosity had been sparked, to say the least.

As an answer to his question, she took Bellatrix' wand from its holster and conjured a silencing spell around the room.

A grateful nod from Ollivander, yet his voice was but a whisper, "Indeed, secrecy is most important these days.

"One cannot _become_ a Wandmaker, one _is_ a Wandmaker. It is in their blood, their very DNA, their being. Thus it should not be of a surprise to you that it is often the case that a whole family practices the profession. Whole family trees are filled to the brink with Wandmakers. All have these magnificent abilities.

"Usually parents are able to observe if their children have the required skills. Most often this is in the early stages of the child's life, say from one to four years old?

"The education begins as early as possible, there have been cases in which the child was but two years old.

"Albeit this has also lead to some dark pages in the history of Wandmakers..." Ollivander patted himself on the chin, his thoughts had probably sunk far into the realm of memories. Hermione could barely keep from nudging him back to the present. At last the man continued, "Maybe a story for another time.

"However, starting early with the education required to become a Wandmaker makes it possible for the profession to become second nature to the person. They do not know any better, nor do they want to - that is, most of them... Another something I will not be telling you about, not today.

"Don't you worry though, it isn't a horrid act. For a good wandmaker feels this sensation - a certain pull - regarding the lore of wands. It makes them want to continue on and on. Maybe it could be best described as a form of an addiction?" As he pondered over these words his eyes fell on Hermione and he laughed at the expression on her face.

"You don't have to look at me like that, sweet girl, it is no illness I speak of! It's a blessing!" Enthusiasm radiated from the little man, seeing and hearing him now could make anyone interested in wandlore. "We are blessed with an ability few others are able to understand. No sensation comes close to that of making a wand. There is nothing as fascinating!"

Ollivander rambled on, too caught up in his story to see a slight frown on Hermione's face. For she started to feel like this was no longer an unbiased source she listened to. What intrigued her more was the fact that children were educated as soon as possible, was that even responsible? Ollivander _had_ said that there were some 'dark pages' because of it.

"...You could compare it with the desire a bookworm has to read and understand, there is never enough curriculum to gather, am I right, Miss Granger?" The wandmaker smiled warmly, his feet - which dangled in the air; he really had shrunken over the years - bounced happily up and down. Their subject obviously delighted him.

She nodded absentmindedly, thinking of all he told her. Then she cleared her throat and said, "I don't want to be rude, sir, but you haven't answered my question yet..."

"Of course, you are completely right. It is not very abstract, really. With the education a wandmaker enjoys, they learn to 'read' the wands they create. With the creation of a wand, certain energies settle within the wood, we like to call this the 'will of a wand'. Which is said to be the most important aspect of wands."

"So the wood and core have a chemical reaction? Which is the energy that comes forth during the creation, which equals the wand's will? But then how is it's 'will' confined to the wood? Is it of such a nature that the energy awakened stays within the materials?" Hermione asked, truly fascinated by this piece of information.

Ollivander nodded but did not otherwise answer her questions, "Our observation skills regarding human beings have to be trained as well. In order to know what is best suited to the energies of the holder and their potential wand, in the hope of creating the best possible harmony. Thus, simply put, we have to know that A+B=Z, but to achieve this we have to study the customer thoroughly. And to think that we, most often, succeed to 'read' our customers within a minute or ten; quite impressive don't you think?"

"Yes, definitely, Mister Ollivander. But -"

"Yes, yes. You are right." He waved her words away, "I haven't yet answered your question. Let me tell you why I have been wondering when you would reappear in my shop.

"So, the first time you walked into my shop the surname 'Granger' did not stir any memories, nor knowledge. Thus, I already knew you were either a Half-Blood, Muggle-born or a foreigner; the latter was very unlikely though, with your excellent vocabulary and pronunciation at such a young age. However, I soon knew you were of Muggle birth, the way you looked at all things magical with a constant surprise in your voice. Adorable really.

"Before every start of a new school year, a wandmaker makes sure to have refreshed their memories regarding Pureblood and important Half-Blood families, knowing all the children they could expect in their shop by name. It is part of the services we guarantee, you see.

"Anyway," he hastily continued as Hermione opened her mouth to point out that he was going off-topic again, "when you were in my shop I knew of your intelligence in the blink of my eye. It sparkles in your eyes to this very day.

"Thus, I was certain that I had to bring you a wand with the core of a Dragon's Heartstring. Yet, one wand after another denied you a good harmony. All the wands that we had gone through and none could sync their magic effortlessly with yours. Then, finally, came the moment I handed you your wand. And at once we could all see that you two belonged together.

"But... I knew something I couldn't tell you back then. Your wand had been in my shop for many a year, not accepting any of the witches or wizards I brought it in contact with. And as it lay securely in your hand I saw something that both saddened and intrigued me. For I knew it wouldn't be long before I, or another wandmaker, would see you. I don't know how wandmakers are able to read this from a wand, we just do."

"Do you truly not know this, or are you not allowed to tell me?" Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, though she kept her voice gentle.

A twinkle of mischief was visible in Ollivander's eyes, but his jovial expression vanished the moment he continued. "As I was saying... Wands are more than mere sticks to give more precision to one's aim. And they are _always_ right, it can only be the wandmaker who is wrong. Unfortunately, that does also mean that it is very unlikely that your wand..." He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. A wand's existence was obviously of importance to him. Hermione would have wondered if that was so with every wandmaker, but the news she had just gotten had her mind in its grip.

Ice ran through her veins. She did not want to believe his words and said as much, "I can't believe you, sir, I... my wand... Gone?" Hermione shook her head in disbelief, her eyes pleaded for him to say he could be mistaken, but the man before her shrunk away in his chair, sadness evident in his wrinkles as the corners of his mouth drooped downwards.

It was a knife to her heart, her hopes shattered. The knowledge hurt her far more than she had thought it would.

Ollivander's sad eyes went to the curtains; rain still splattered heavily on the roof and against the windows and the thunder and flashes still created a dark symphony to the otherwise calming sounds.

Hermione did not want another wand, she had hoped that _if_ they would win this war that she would find it in the possession of one of the many Snatchers.

She gulped, not wanting to hear it, yet she asked, "How can you be so sure, Mister Ollivander?"

His eyes returned to her. "I wish I could have told you something else, sweet girl. But after all my years in this profession, a lifetime filled with the creation of wizard's most beloved possession, I can tell a wands life-spam without much difficulty." He breathed out softly, then he continued with a dampened warmth in his voice, "The pain is something I cannot take away with this promise, but I want you to know that when this blasted war is over and if I am still among the living, then I would be honoured to help you in your search for a new wand." His small smile held sincere warmth, but as he had said himself it helped nothing against the pain Hermione currently experienced. She nodded nonetheless and tried to smile back, though she knew it looked as hollow as she felt.

A long silence lasted, both completely engulfed in their own thoughts. Hermione fidgeted with the seams of Fleur's vest, her eyes on the candle that burned on the table beside her. The flame danced around, wax dripped down on the steel candleholder underneath it. The Muggle-born wiped some stubborn curls out of her face, tucked them behind her ear. Her eyes went to Ollivander and observed him. He had his eyes closed, his arms laid on the armrests whilst his fingers plucked at the fabric. The latter being the only sign that he had not fallen asleep, yet.

He had grown old in the years she had not seen him. All those years ago, when she had come to get her wand at his shop, he had been so vibrant and full of energy. Thinking back, she would say that Ollivander would have been about 80 years old; an age, for a wizard, that could be best compared to a Muggle being in his late forties. But now... As she looked at this person she would say he was far above the hundred, this was probably his true age all along. It made her wonder how he had eluded people regarding his age for so long; had it been his genes or were there charms involved? Either way, Hermione did not doubt that his stay at Malfoy Manor had greatly influenced the change in his appearance.

She rubbed her eyes, a tired sigh escaped her. Her body felt sour from all the exercises of today. A longing for the shower bubbled up again.

"Mister Ollivander," she spoke softly, "could I ask you one last question?"

The man opened his eyes and nodded, a smile on his lips once more.

Hermione licked her lips. Would he give an answer? Did she actually want to know? This was the question she had come to the Wandmaker in the first place, she had to ask this.

"This is Bellatrix' wand," she said and slipped the object in her hand, "I have had to work with it since our escape from Malfoy Manor. At first, it protested, but it gradually started to listen to my will, extremely grudgingly, I might add. It still has the tendency to try and bite my hand with sparks or the sort. Nonetheless, it listens, as long as I don't let my guard down." A heavy sigh escaped her, whilst she ran one hand through her curls and rotated the wand with her other. "Either way, what I want to ask is, how is it possible that the wand actually listens to me, despite all odds? I mean, Bellatrix - " the name felt weird on her tongue, " - and I are complete opposites regarding our heritage, ideals and beliefs. I am _literally_ everything she wants to kill and enslave..." The idea felt surreal, yet the realist in her knew it to be true. That did not mean she would ever understand how someone could want to kill another merely because of their different origins.

The wandmaker was silent for a long time, in which he studied the young woman opposite of him with the skills he had gotten from working over a century in his profession. He noticed things others would not and these affirmed what he had already suspected. His fingers were still restlessly fidgeting with the fabric of the chair. He cleared his throat, "Is it truly a surprise to you, Miss Granger?"

A hesitant nod was his answer.

"Haven't you heard stories of Mrs Lestrange from her time at Hogwarts? You haven't been the only 'smartest witch of her age', many a woman has had the honour of carrying such a title. Mrs Lestrange née Black being one of them.

"Thereby comes the fact that this wand is made of Walnut," he said and took the crooked wood in his hands with the utmost care, "and Walnut wood is known to bring forth wands with peculiarities. Mind you, it is not as unpredictable as Black Walnuts, but let's not side-track, shall we?" He winked at her, knowing all too well that he had done nothing but that during their conversation. "Where was I? Hum... The Walnut, yes. There are two abilities the wood of this tree demands above all else, which are, as you may have guessed already, intelligence and skill. Which, no matter how you look at it, you have in common with Mrs Lestrange.

"However, common knowledge among wizarding kind is that wands, once they have chosen their wandholder, are not easily commanded or - depending on the wood and core - not at all by other individuals. The exception is when the other individuals are considered friends, lovers and family.

"Of which you are none regarding Mrs Lestrange.

"What is not as widely known - why this is, is a mystery to me - is that a wand can accommodate, once it is for a certain time span within the grasp of a new holder. But this is only known to happen when the old and new wandholders resemble each other in a lot of ways, thus it happens seldom.

"As a result folk often take another's wand with force and aggression, at times even resorting to killing the old holder, in the belief that only then the wand will listen to them. Which is not a necessity."

"I forced and still force it to listen to me," the Muggle-born looked worried, afraid that she has approached Bellatrix' wand in completely the wrong way, that it could have been so much easier.

"Yes, sweet girl, that you did, but..." Ollivander rotated the wand around once more and let a heavy sigh escape, "I doubt it would ever willingly work with you. Mrs Lestrange and you have most certainly abilities and personality traits in common, but you differ from one another all the same. Greatly so. And these are things she nor you could change. Take both your heritages for example.

"And don't forget that this wand has worked with Bellatrix since the very day she walked out of my shop. In all that time a lot of dark magic has been conjured with it, magic to hurt others with. Most likely hundreds of Muggle-borns and Muggles have felt her wrath through this..." Sad eyes looked up at her as he handed the wand back to Hermione.

She looked lost for a moment, she felt torn between breaking the stick right there or throwing it into the sea. Of which she did neither, of course. Her rational mind took control of her weird impulses. She took it gently from Ollivander's grip and put it back in the holster she had strapped on her underarm.

Her words were tentative, "In what way do I resemble Bel - " she halted, this time unable to say the witch's name, "Mrs Lestrange?" And as she voiced her question she wondered if she truly wanted to know. A second later, even before the wizard could think about her question, Hermione shook her head and murmured, "No, I don't believe I want to hear the answer to that. Please, forget I ever asked you."

Ollivander had a look of surprise on his face, he studied her intensely during the charged silence that followed. Because of this Hermione felt awkward and fidgeted terribly. She was about to excuse herself, no longer able to withstand the scrutinizing look of the wandmaker, when he spoke at last.

Apprehension dawned on his features, he had seen and laid the connection, several theories sprang to life. None pleasant to hear. He doubted the Muggle-born was ready to listen. Thereby came the fact... He cleared his throat again, "Miss Granger, no matter if you want to hear or not, I can't tell you the answer to that, for you asked, involuntarily, about the technique used in the wandlore to specify and dissect one person's being within a few hours' time. Thus, I can't tell you... Yet. For if you would give me some time to think about it, then maybe I could find a way to enlighten you."

"Of course, take all the time you want, sir, I doubt I will ever ask about this again."

He nodded as he entwined his fingers and watched her pensively.

"I sincerely thank you for your trust, Mister Ollivander, I couldn't have hoped for more. I bid you a good night."

He nodded once more. She stood up and walked to the door, with a flick of her hand the spell surrounding them disappeared and her stool transformed back into the vase it had been before.

With the door handle in hand, Hermione turned back to the wandmaker, "I suspect that Harry, Ron and I will take our leave soon. So, if I don't see you before that... Well, all I want to say is that I hope to see you again." She felt vulnerable saying this, making her doubts in the future so obvious to a stranger, yet she felt like she had to tell him this. To show him that she had appreciated his company and all the information he had given her.

His smile radiated warmth, his eyes grew watery. Though Hermione could not handle this for long, she looked down at her socks, turned to the door and walked out of the room. Careful to close the door softly.

As she walked down the stairs she felt her muscles pull and protest. She may have _slightly_ overdone it today. To her delight, the bathroom was vacated, she grabbed the fresh clothes Fleur had laid on her bed and marched into the room.

Half an hour later she emerged refreshed, serene and tired. Ready for bed. Yet she opted for a cup of tea first, Fleur would want her to eat something as well.

The quarter-Veela sat reading a book at the kitchen table, whilst a pot filled with the beverage of that evening simmered on the stove. Hermione yawned and stretched as she walked inside and took a seat beside the French woman, leaning her head on one hand, she summoned a cup with the other and poured herself some tea.

The kitchen window gave a clear view of the weather outside; it rained still and the howls of the wind created an airy atmosphere, at times it even made some of the windows in the house rattle. The lightning and thunder, on the other hand, were slowly disappearing into the distance.

 _"I hope the herbs in your garden won't succumb under this storm,"_ murmured Hermione as she traced the ear from her cup with her forefinger.

 _"They won't, dear, I charmed the earth surrounding them, it will repel the superfluous water,"_ Fleur told airily and turned a page.

Hermione's eyes had not left the window, she watched the dark clouds drift Northeast and how the rain pelted down angrily. She wondered how she had managed to create such a storm. The events after the argument were a bit blurred, she had acted mostly on instinct, letting her emotions take the upper hand. Looking back at it she realised she had charged all her pent-up frustration into the sky. Something that would have been disastrous had somebody wanted to invade her mind - Hermione berated herself for her carelessness. For in her chaotic state of mind people would have demolished her defences easily.

A sigh left her. Her thoughts swirled around in her mind. She pondered about her conversation with the wandmaker, the fallout with Ron and about all possible solutions for her nightmare. The idea that the latter is a side effect from the word carved in her arm becoming more plausible with each passing day.

A hand curled around Hermione's, it effectively stopped its movements.

Unbeknownst to herself, she had been tracing the word through the fabric of the sweater she wore. _Mudblood_. It was still a fresh wound, even after all these days. For it reopened with the slightest of touches or the littlest of a stretch of her skin. Luckily, until now, it had not bled profusely. She just had to refresh the bandage every night.

The pain that accompanied even the slightest of external pressures which pressed against the flesh of and surrounding the word was not as forgiving. Every time she placed her left underarm too forcefully - which meant just the slightest notch harder than one normally would - onto a surface, or when she leaned with it against something, or when she would do anything else unexpected with it - a prickle of pain would electrify her flesh.

Now the wound was calm, though if she concentrated she could feel her torn skin throb against the bandages with each heartbeat.

Seconds passed before she met dark blue eyes. Her own conveyed her question as to why Fleur held her hand. The French woman elaborated, _"I have a difficult time accepting that the word still won't heal, despite everything we have tried."_

During the past days Fleur had come with all sorts of potions, salves, charms and chants, one scarier than the other, but none had worked. Partly because some needed more magic or knowledge than the woman alone could offer. Yet the quarter-Veela had still not given up on finding a remedy she could provide. _"Please, don't ever let that word define your self-worth, you are so much more than a Muggle-born, 'Ermione."_

Hermione nodded. She knew that in her weakest moments she was inclined to believe that she was worth less than the general witch, fortunately, those moments were very few in her life - she could count them on two hands. Nonetheless, Fleur's words warmed her, made a small, yet tired, smile minutely break through her gloomy mood. She shifted her hand so that she could hold Fleur's hand in her own. Their fingers intertwined.

The Muggle-born could not help but study their connection, meanwhile, Fleur had averted her eyes back to her book. Hermione thought it was remarkable how fast their friendship had grown, scary even. At times she could get nervous thinking about it. She had noticed how weird it sometimes felt when she merely walked into the same room.

Fleur's thumb started to caress Hermione's skin underneath it, it made the younger woman return to reality. Her eyes were on Fleur's face again. Who ignored her, still reading the book in her other hand, magically turning the pages so that their hands could stay connected.

They sat like this for a long time; one lost in her own thoughts, the other read and kept the younger one from entering a negative, self-destructive, downward spiral in her mind.


	5. Gone after Tea

Flash. BANG!

Rain poured down in fast amounts, it created bizarre patterns on the windows. And whenever the lightning flashed - always closely followed by the thunder - the display was minutely drawn upon the floor. Like long paintings wherein someone's entire life full of misfortune and sadness was laid bare. It created a ghostly aura within the house. One that would scare many inwards, to the chambers wherein guests were invited to dine or be entertained, far away from the floor to ceiling windows. Where, no matter how many candles burned nor how many logs were thrown into the fire, the cold darkness seeped into the house, unbidden and creepy in its wake.

Narcissa paced around in one of the ballrooms on the first floor. It was vacant of any other living soul, for she had sent them all away if they had not left on their own accord already. A single cough could make her snap, her annoyance evident in every movement. Her eyes the epitome of calculated anger and yet it was still a gaze as cold as ice.

It had been days since she had last seen her. Days which were filled with worry, little sleep and, lately, mostly anger. _All because of my 'honour-bound' sister,_ Narcissa thought darkly. One of the house-Elves had assured her that Bellatrix had returned for a few hours of rest, but Narcissa herself had been fast asleep during this period of time, thus not made aware at the time of the arrival and departure of Bellatrix.

Since then she had not even slept for an hour, and three days had already passed. Her eyes were red-rimmed from exhaustion, her back rigid from sheer determination, jaw set in foolish justness. For, as a sister, she was supposed to know where her older sibling went to and what kind of stupidity Bellatrix was about to get into.

_But I do not,_ Narcissa huffed, disdain clearly evident.

Her eyes glanced at the windows and the darkness behind them, still nothing.

Ever since the failed containment of Undesirable No.1 and his looneys, Bellatrix had disappeared without a word - that is, after the meeting with their Lord. Voldemort had been furious hearing upon his arrival what had transpired in the house and had killed everyone present in the room. Lucius, Bellatrix and Fenrir, who had all the misfortune to be there, were the only ones to be spared. They had gotten away with some harsh words, but that was all. Their Lord was known for being a strict and unforgiving man, but what commoners did not _want_ to acknowledge - for it was certainly no secret - was that the Dark Lord never disposed of trustworthy, loyal and (or) useful followers.

Her sister most certainly fell under the first two categories. Which was also why the Lord's words of disappointment hurt Bellatrix so terribly. Of course, Bellatrix was useful too, but that had not granted her the rank she enjoyed today.

Narcissa, on the other hand, saw the clever scheming of a master manipulator. She was awfully aware that their Lord had known his words would have exactly this effect on Bellatrix. And she despised him all the more for it.

What could her sibling be doing, what drove her to the brink of this madness? There had been said something during the time that the children had been held here. Something which should not have been voiced aloud. And she suspected, she knew, it had something to do with Bellatrix' vault. For she had heard the panic concealed in Bellatrix' screams as she had tortured the Mudblood, panic one could only hear if they knew what to listen for.

The woman took to stand at one of the windows again.

She needed her sister to come home, to be safe. Bellatrix had rotten away for far too long in Azkaban, for something she, Narcissa, could have prevented had she only acted faster. Her hands balled into fists. Why was it so damned difficult to keep her older sister from ruining her own life for a second time, no less? Bellatrix threw it all away for a man who was no longer even human!

Narcissa had an inkling what could have kept their Dark Lord on the planet of the living all these years; there were enough books about the darkest of rituals in the library of the family Black. And if her suspicions were proved true... An even greater part of her wanted to keep Bellatrix from following Voldemort every step possible.

Her eyes focussed again, for lightning and thunder had drawn her out of her thoughts and made her look upwards to the clouds. With their Dark Lord's absence of the last week, the murky sky had gradually disappeared to grant nature around here some much-needed sunshine. Yet it had not even been two days and this blasted storm had come from the Southwest. _It is practically a hurricane,_ she thought bitterly.

She willed herself to scan the edges of the Malfoy estate, even with this heavy rain and darkness which blurred the sight heavily. And unfortunately, Narcissa had no such ability to see through it. Yet at some point, a shadow caught her eye and when lightning minutely lighted the surroundings Narcissa was sure of what she had seen. Someone had appeared from thin air and walked resolutely to the house over the gravel path. A female figure, clad only in black.

At the same time, a house-Elf appeared beside her and bowed with practised ease, though he did not receive the slightest form of acknowledgement. "Mistress Lady Malfoy, ye asked Buckles to inform ye when Mistress Lady Lestrange has arrived once more. Well, Mistress Malfoy, Lady Lestrange walks currently on the gravel path."

Narcissa had not acknowledged the Elf and still did not listen to a word he said, instead she made her way to the hall and descended the stairs to the front door. However, when she stood on the last step she called for Buckles, "Open the door."

The house-Elf did as he was asked with a bow and did not straighten up until Bellatrix walked past.

With her, she brought a trail of water and the cold air from outside. It did not matter to her and she certainly did not give the impression that it even crossed her mind. Nor did she bother with her younger sister who approached her, with all her haughtiness in place and eyes that could kill any filthy Mudblood given the chance. Bellatrix' own dark brown eyes were void of emotion and her mind was pondering about all which still had to be done. There was not a moment that she halted in her movements as she walked straight to the stairs.

The youngest sibling was perplexed, for Bellatrix answered none of her questions. She did not even _look_ at her as she walked straight past her.

_I am being ignored, completely and utterly ignored._ Narcissa turned around in an instant; anger had replaced the haughtiness as she followed her sister to the stairs. She picked up her dress to enable her to move faster and walk beside, instead of behind, Bellatrix.

A formal approach clearly would not work, thus with a shrill voice Narcissa brought her wronged feelings in the matter up, "Have you any idea how worried I have been about you?!"

Silence.

"I am painfully aware that the chance of you sharing information about your occupation is close to nihil, but that doesn't give you the right to just barge in whenever you feel like it and to disappear for days on end!" They arrived at the first floor, but Bellatrix ascended another flight of stairs with Narcissa hot on her heels.

"And look at you! You look as if you have been holed up in a cave for days - there is dirt all over you and your clothes - only to emerge when the rain decides to fall again! A drenched mole. That would be the best way to describe you." At this Narcissa halted as she stood at the middle of the stairs, expecting her older sister to turn around slowly with fury written all over her face - if Bellatrix had to be famous for anything besides her hatred for filthy Mudbloods, it would be her hatred for being compared to anything but the purest of pure. Yet another deadly silence was all that followed, only disturbed by the sound of Buckles who was cleaning the mess Bellatrix had left behind thorough the house.

All she could do was watch her older sibling reach the highest step and walk out of her sight on the second floor, though she listened as Bellatrix' signature boots - a combination of femininity and practicality wrapped in black leather - clicked with their heels on the wooden floorboards as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom.

The emotions that roared inside Narcissa were given a voice by several harsh bangs that thundered through the sky. She balled her hands into fists, her knuckles white from the tightness of the skin around the bones. When she surmised that Bellatrix should almost have reached her door something snapped inside her and she opened her mouth without a care for the other occupants of the house.

"Why won't you say something?! Defend yourself, scream at me that I am too young to understand! For Merlin's sake, act like you give a damn about life, about _your_ life!" Her screams echoed down the staircases and through the whole hall. There was no doubt that everyone in the house had awakened after the screamed words had reached them.

Yet... Still no response from her older sibling. A soft click from a door being opened and closed was the only given sign that time had not decided to freeze to a stop. And it was Narcissa's undoing, angry tears appeared in her eyes and trailed down her cheeks as she stomped down the stairs and sought her refuge in the only place she could call her own in this forsaken house: her study on the first floor. There she would read every book about dark rituals she could get a grasp on. A wine glass filled with their finest liquid at her side at all times. Until the moment the exhaustion in her body would make her faint.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the gentle pattering of rain and for some precious minutes she lingered in the half-conscious state of being when one emerges from a deep sleep. She thanked whatever God was up there for the creation of the Dreamless Sleep Draught. Once truly awake her mind conducted that this must be the tail end of the storm. There were only a few raindrops left that danced against the windows. _This is still the storm which I created._ It was a strange thought. She stretched her limbs and back, her muscles sour from all the duels and exercises of the previous day.

As she looked sideways she was surprised to see Luna's bed empty. Until now it had always been Hermione who was the first to wake up, even when she had drunk the Draught. Without any further ado, she stepped out of bed. While she put on Fleur's clothes she wondered absentmindedly how late it was and was reminded of the old pocket watch she had lost. Along with her beaded bag. Within that old bag had been everything she had thought the trio had needed for their journey; clothes, potions, toothbrushes and other toiletries. And even more, for she had stored all her precious books within it, unable to part with any of them. She had stored her most important photos in the bag; of Crookshanks, her and Viktor - or Viktor alone -, of her parents and of her friends. All these photos were heavily charmed, of course, not a soul - except Hermione - would recognize these people, no matter how well the observer knew the people on the photos, the charm would prevent their brains from making a connection with memories or the rational part of their mind.

All those items were now gone, lost during their attempted escape from the Snatchers. _I have lost all the objects that were dear to me_. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, her mood gloomy once again and it was only the start of her day.

The Muggle-born noted that she had been sad and depressed more often lately, even before Malfoy Manor, and even when the Horcrux had not been around her neck. Not that it was exceptional in times like these, yet she felt the worry for her own mental health resurface. She promised herself for the umpteenth time that when this war was over - and _if_ she would still be there - she would seek out professional help.

Unfortunately, for now, all she could do was steel herself for the day to come and make the best of it.

A tingling in her stomach made her uneasy. Where was Harry? She knew it would not be long anymore... The previous night he had that certain glimmer in his eyes whilst he had looked out of the window, completely immersed in his own thoughts.

The smell of freshly baked bread greeted her when she descended the stairs, she certainly would not mind a slice with some tea and a conversation with the lady of the house.

They sat down on the wooden bench in the garden, each with tea beside them and some toast. It was a bit too crowded in the kitchen to Fleur's liking, especially with Ron and Hermione not talking to each other. She had abducted the latter and taken her here to listen to the sounds of nature together. From their seats, they overlooked the garden, Dobby's grave sat beautifully between the flowers and herbs. And past the garden's fence, a scenery of the dunes and the pine forest was spread before them. The rain was still visible in the distance, but it no longer fell here. There was a gentle breeze in the air but it brought a chill with it, a warming charm made most of the cold bite vanish.

Hermione chewed as her eyes searched for something to observe. However, there was nothing in the garden that she had not already dissected with her eyes during the days she had been confined to the house. Except for Fleur; Hermione could never grow tired of watching other human beings. She had found her 'object of interest'. Her gaze never wavered as the French woman sat in silence, holding her cup of tea securely between her hands. Occasionally she blew off the steam, her dark blue eyes on the clouds above them or roaming over the pines in the distance.

The Muggle-born moved to sit sideways on the bench, with her feet on the wood as well, now she did not have to sit with cramping neck muscles. She did not make a secret of watching her friends, that would only make things awkward. Though she would, naturally, never watch strangers in such a blatant way.

_"At times I forget that there is a war going on,"_ Hermione muttered out of the blue, _"we are so secluded here and no newspapers get delivered. There are moments I realize with a start that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could be even more powerful than a few days ago..."_ She trailed off, there was no need to continue, anyone would know what troubled her. They all felt the same.

Fleur nodded ever so slightly, as she watched the clouds pass them by. It was almost as if she was somewhere else entirely, yet her voice was as clear as ever when she spoke. _"It is a blessing and a curse, don't you think?"_ It was a rhetoric question, she continued without waiting for a response, _"This is such a small place, yet big enough for all of us - we almost resemble a small community, everybody does something in the household and for each other._

_"And with the wards that surround us, we are literally cut off from the rest of Britain and the world. Just like so many other magical institutions and places that are hidden from a Muggle's view. We just take it up a notch by hiding even from our own kind. No one would think to visit a place such as this and if they somehow manage to get close they will stir off, get lost or think of something else they could or should be doing._

_"I rest assured at night with the thought that not even that bastard could find us, as long as none of us lets him in on the secret. But it also has been days since I heard anything from my family and before that our communication had been sparse at best..._

_"Anyway, I am rambling... Yes, this place makes you forget there is a war going on, but don't be fooled, 'Ermione, because the threat is very real."_

Fleur glanced at Hermione for the first time since they had sat down. Light brown eyes studied her with intensity, they made her avert her eyes at once. With her words she had opened up to the younger woman, which in itself was not something new to them, it was just that this was a side of Fleur most would label as pessimistic or depressing. Labels which had hurt Fleur in the past and she had no doubt that receiving such an opinion from Hermione would hurt her still. She questioned herself if she had been foolish by being this honest.

As she listened to the French woman Hermione was reminded of her own family, one that would not recognize her even if she stood right before them. Only 'their' cat would recognize her and maybe purr as he walked around her legs and rubbed his scent upon her.

The day Hermione had whipped her parents' memory was the very first time Crookshanks had ever hissed at her when she had tried to pick him up to apparate away. She had not understood his behaviour at the time, was hurt at the thought that he no longer trusted her after he had witnessed what she had done to her parents. But as weeks passed Hermione had realized that it was not unlikely that Crookshanks had wanted to stay with her parents in order to keep them safe, for as far as he would be able to. It would not be the first time her precious furball would make such decisions by himself.

Her voice was soft, for her thoughts were still in the past as she finally responded to Fleur, _"Yes, you hit the nail on the head."_ She was unaware of the relieved smile her companion minutely showed.

A moment passed wherein neither said anything, too preoccupied with their own thoughts.

_"You know,"_ she began as Fleur took the first sip of her tea, _"you are my favourite Veela."_ A cheeky grin adorned Hermione's face.

Fleur choked on her tea and had to cough for half a minute, her face was flustered as she covered her mouth with her hand. Hermione chuckled as she patted the French woman on her back, for which she received a glare.

When the older woman had recomposed herself, with her tea once more in her hands she deadpanned, _"quarter-Veela. I am a quarter-Veela. There is a big difference."_

_"Still my favourite though,"_ Hermione chimed and took another bite from her bread.

_"It's hardly a compliment, for I am the only one you know,"_ Fleur raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly in disbelieve, but Hermione saw the upwards twitch of the corners of her mouth and recognized the sparkle of humour in those blue eyes.

_"Doesn't matter, you are my favourite all the same."_

They regarded one another. A playful smile on Hermione's lips, whilst Fleur's features had become quite serious, though her flustered cheeks made it less impressive. The Muggle-born could not help but wonder what was going on in her mind.

Suddenly Fleur straightened, her eyes widened as if alarmed. The change in demeanour made Hermione jump to her feet, her wand ready in her right hand and a Protego Duo conjured with her left. Light brown eyes scanned their surroundings feverously for any sign of danger. Then she caught the lingering smell of Fleur's Veela odour. It clicked in Hermione's mind; the sudden rigidness had nothing to do with a surprise attack. It was another 'slip up' on Fleur's part, she had lost control over her hormones again. At the same time that Hermione realized this a gentle hand grabbed her wrist, _"I am sorry, my sweetheart,"_ Fleur whispered, _"I thought I saw something dark move in the shadows of the forest, but it was just a branch."_

Hermione would have believed Fleur, for her voice was sincere and her features apologetic, but those dark blue eyes did not dare look directly at hers and there was suddenly a sort of static distance between them as if coming any closer could have a negative effect on them both. The distance would not be noticeable for an onlooker, for it was truly a minuscule difference, but the Muggle-born noticed it all the same. How could she not, after all their days of companionship?

What puzzled - and slightly hurt - the younger woman was that Fleur felt the need to lie about this. Why was this something worth lying for? Thereby came the fact that it also prickled Hermione's curiosity. She wanted to ask about it, about the sudden appearance of Fleur's Veela scent but decided against it. Just like all the previous times.

Instead, she inspected their surroundings one more time, to act as if she was not aware of the real reason for Fleur's behaviour, and slowly lowered her wand. The hand around her wrist loosened and let go. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Neither one looked at each other. Hermione's eyes fell on her teacup and toast which laid unceremoniously around her feet. In her haste to stand up, she had thrown both on the ground.

She sighed, this awkwardness had never been between them before and she wanted it gone already. Yet the Muggle-born chose the easiest way out; she picked up the cup and her bread, murmured something about getting a refill and disappeared into the house. Her Gryffindor bravery nowhere to be found.

As she walked inside she berated herself, for she knew that any normal adult would have stayed and said something, anything to make the awkwardness disappear. To have no uncomfortable silence linger between them. But she could not.

With slumped shoulders, she entered the kitchen to throw the leftovers of her toast in the trash bin and set the cup on the counter. She did not return to the garden to speak with Fleur, instead, she went out of the front door to take a walk beside the shore.

Time ticked on as the growl of the ocean surrounded her, seagulls screamed overhead and the wind brought the cold and the salty scent of the sea. Hermione walked over the sand and had a few moments in which she just stood there and watched the waves crash and topple over. All this time she made sure she was in sight of Shell Cottage, for she had no desire to hear that Harry, or anyone else for that matter, could not find her.

At some point she decided she could better spend her time practising difficult magic; since Bellatrix' wand still had moments that it would not listen during her use of non-verbal magic, which was inconvenient, to say the least. She had to figure out how she could best eliminate such behaviour.

With patience born from determination, Hermione practised non-stop for an uncountable amount of time, until the clearing of someone's throat broke through her bubble. She held the spell she had casted alive, it buzzed before her as if it was caged and wanted out - this was a practice to improve her stamina. Meanwhile, she glanced to her side and saw both Harry and Ron stand a meter away from her, they watched the magic in the air. The latter stood closest to her, he clearly wanted her full attention. With a sigh she lowered her wand and extinguished the magic with a small pop, then she turned to the Weasley who she had once considered one of her best friends. She was not so sure if that trust would ever return after all that had happened between them; in moments of harsh honesty, she even doubted a normal friendship would be manageable, considering his infatuation with her and the fact that they disagreed about far too many things.

"I thought I could make the first step towards a conversation, for a chance," he said lamely as he rubbed the nape of his neck, his eyes on the sand between them. The Muggle-born had no doubt that this was due to Harry, she saw it in his posture; he had a laid-back posture and yet, there was a determined look on his face which gave his act away. And Ron was too nervous to have come on his own accord. Nonetheless, she said in a neutral voice, "That is a refreshing change."

Ron shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. No further response was given. He had already completely barricaded his emotions.

_Well, that did not last long._ Internally she rolled her eyes at his behaviour, how difficult could he make this?

Harry was the one that broke the building tension. "Let's walk for a bit, shall we? Before my legs freeze off." As they made their way Hermione was glad that Harry walked between Ron and her.

Momentarily she could forget about their current situation, for her eyes were drawn to the waves again as they walked past to them. She did not care if her feet would be underwater, with the constant ebb and flood.

"Hermione, I am sorry... About yesterday, I mean," Ron said, he had - miraculously - found the words he needed to say. Though that was all he uttered, it had always been like that. Whenever Harry and Ron had argued in their years of friendship all they had to do afterwards was say that one word and all was forgiven and forgotten - most of the time anyway. With Hermione, it had, of course, always been different. She had been brought up with the idea that both sides should explain their behaviour and analyze where it went wrong, in order to forgo any of the same miscommunications or arguments in the future. Harry and she had learned and grown closer from these moments of honesty. Ron on the other hand... She had never gotten the impression that he wanted to forgo anything. He lived his life in such a different way as she did. And that was fine, really, it just did not make things easier between them. And it had taken Hermione until these days at the Cottage to truly realize it, how big the difference between Ron and herself truly was.

One had to pick their battles. And Hermione decided that this one would not be worth her energy. Thus, her response was simple and matter of fact, "Let's not dwell on the past, hm?" She tore her eyes away from the waves to see the flabbergasted expression on Ron's face.

Harry too was slightly surprised and he tried to read Hermione's body language carefully. Nothing told him that there was still anger in her, that her words were untrue. It looked more to him like she no longer cared enough about the argument, or maybe even going so far as that she no longer cared enough about Ron and tried - unconsciously or not - to put distance between the two of them.

He was not sure which one was the cause. What Harry did know was how he had seen and experienced slight changes in Hermione's behaviour, which had first caught his attention just before the start of the Horcrux hunt. During their months of camping, he had seen how annoyance would flash in her eyes, yet she would still try her best to keep the peace. And there was the fact that she had stopped to mother them altogether; these changes had not manifested themselves all at once, but gradually.

Since Malfoy Manor more drastic changes in Hermione's behaviour had shown. For example, she no longer rolled her eyes whenever she thought someone asked her a question of which the answer was painfully obvious - in her opinion. Nor did she participate in most conversations that happened around her, except when she was directly spoken to. Thereby came the fact that she seemed to have lost some of her inner fire. 'Inner fire' being her desire to prove others her knowledge and skill. Truth be told Harry was not certain these last few were such good changes, he was worried about her, knew that the torture may not have broken her intellect but had nonetheless broken something in her being. Then again, Hermione _had_ glowed with pride when she had duelled him and the others. _Maybe_ I _have become too overprotective lately?_

But he was not blind, nor stupid. This was not good; Hermione needed a form of help he could not provide.

There had been moments in which he had almost broached the topic with her, but somehow she had always known and send him a certain look which made him close his mouth and instead scoot closer to lean his forehead against hers or to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

_Time will tell, I guess_. _That is, if we are granted such a luxury,_ he thought bitterly _._

Harry's eyes went to Ron, who still had a shocked expression. He had clearly not been as observant, despite his feelings for Hermione. _Love blinds people_ , Harry thought sagely. He had to keep himself from snorting out loud at his own thoughts.

Ron cleared his throat again, two pairs of eyes looked at him in an instant. He blushed slightly at the intensity of those light brown eyes and averted his gaze forward again before he said, "Let's talk about the other elephant in the room, guys. Our mission..."

Harry nodded, "Yes, the longer we stay here, the more dangerous it becomes for the others."

"Hermione?" Ron said.

"Yes?"

"Have you thought about it?" He referred to the plan they had told Hermione about once she had been stable for a few days.

"Of course, how couldn't I?" She said with a sigh, "Unfortunately I can't think of any alternative ways. Bellatrix has given us an undeniable lead. Whether this is a trap - which is likely, but we could never know for certain - or a slip of the mouth... We will have to see when we get there, I guess.

"And... what else is there we could do? Brood over what other objects could be a Horcrux? No, I think our situation is dire enough as it is. It's unwise to wait any longer. I feel fit and as ready as one can be in our situation." She took a breath, creating a pause to let her words sink in, then she continued, "But I don't like the idea in the slightest. We will, quite literally, be walking right into the lion's den.

"Bellatrix goes _over_ the extremes to please her Lord... Which makes me believe that He is not informed of the fact that she has, unknowingly or not, slipped information to us. Her Lord would be so disappointed in her, otherwise." She drawled the last statement with heavy sarcasm. He would not be disappointed; He would be furious, murderous, and Bellatrix would most likely not be spared the consequences.

Despite everything that had happened to Hermione at the hands of the Death Eater, she believed that no one should be killed mercilessly, no matter what they had done. Someone's life was not something others should decide over. Who gave anyone the right to play for God?

She pressed her lips tightly together as she began to ponder about where one should draw the line. What about people with terminal and mental illnesses? Had they not the right to ask for death given in a safe form at the hands of a doctor? She doubted that euthanasia was truly as bad as some said it was. Then again, was it just another way for people to have the reassuring feeling that they are in control of something, of their own lives?

She considered a Dementor's kiss so much worse than euthanasia. People would still be forced to live afterwards, as hollow husks of their former selves, unable to form a coherent speech, unable to communicate how they felt and what they desired - that is, if there was any desire left in them. And, as if that was not enough, they were doomed to live to the end of their lives as these husks locked up somewhere in Azkaban. The mere thought made shivers trail over her body. Hermione had been close to Dementors on several unlucky occasions during the time that they had swarmed Hogwarts in search of Padfoot and she had no desire to imagine how it would feel to be holed up in barbarian conditions and in the constant presence of creatures who drained you from any happy memory or feeling one could have.

While her mind was occupied, Ron nodded quietly.

"Right," Harry said, determination clear in his voice, "we should head straight to Griphook when we return to the Cottage." His eyes followed Hermione's gaze to the sea and he said, suddenly with a lighter tone, "Let's get completely soaked."

Hermione looked at him, her face not showing the slightest change in emotion and said, "You are serious, aren't you?"

Ron clapped their mutual friend on the shoulder, shook his head with a disbelieving smile as if he was about to disagree to the odd notion, then he sprinted ahead and shouted over his shoulder that the last to have gone completely underwater was a prude. Harry dashed after him.

Hermione watched them go, she was hesitant. Her thoughts returned to their next step - the break-in into Gringotts. For a moment she wondered why Harry and Ron had changed from serious adults to goofy teenagers in the blink of an eye. Then apprehension dawned. Acknowledging the thoughts she had voiced aloud about Bellatrix and her vault, had been a difficult reality to all three of them. Their next step was something no one really wanted to do - who would? - and agreeing to Hermione's words would make their plan look like a suicide mission. Which it was. They just refused to accept it and instead indulged themselves in a moment of giddy, if somewhat childish, fun.

She ran a hand through her hair, a frown of worry on her face as she watched Harry dive into the water, Ron already emerged to the surface and turned around to beckon her with a big grin plastered on his face.

No, she would not follow them into the water. It was probably freezing.

Then she realized that she could be dead by tomorrow.

It made her sprint towards them at a dead run. As if Hell was about to swallow her up from underneath. It did not matter that she was last in the water, Ron had always been of the opinion that she was a prude anyway.

They splashed around for a bit, but the water was ice cold and it drove them out within a few minutes. Warming charms helped nothing against the wind that went right through magic and clothes and made goosebumps appear all over their body, shivers followed suit. If they did not go inside the Cottage fast their body temperature would become too low.

As they arrived before the house Harry said he wanted to see Dobby's grave before going inside. Hermione became rigid, fear of seeing Fleur rushed through her body, yet she followed him without any objections. Ron looked longingly at the house once, before he tracked their footsteps over the fence and into the garden.

Hermione's fears vanished for the biggest part when Fleur was nowhere to be found; that is, not in the garden.

The trio stood next to one another. Dobby's gravestone was carved with a clumsy hand, a sad amusement settled in Hermione as her eyes fell upon it. Her sight travelled downward. A few sprouts had come up near the stone. Which was rather peculiar, since the ground here was not very fertile - it was mostly sand. She crouched down and gently patted the small leaves. "I hope that these will bloom in beautiful flowers. That is the least he deserves," she said.

Luna's voice reached their ears as the Ravenclaw walked towards them and crouched next to Hermione, "I am quite certain these are flowers known by the name Phlox. Remember that I told you I was searching for seeds? Sadly enough I could not find any. Thus, when William went to the herbalist in the nearby village I joined him and the woman gave me some seeds from her own garden. A very sweet gesture, don't you think?" All nodded in agreement. Luna picked Hermione's hand that had just caressed the plants and gently pressed it with the palm flat upon the earth, "Do you feel that?"

Hermione closed her eyes and frowned in concentration. After a dozen seconds like this, she began to feel the slightest pulse of magical energy underneath her fingers. A smile graced her lips when she opened her eyes and it was mirrored by Luna, who elaborated, "That is the thrum of the magic that is bound to Dobby's body. Which is the cause of the fast growth of these seeds. His energy fertilizes the ground surrounding him and will do so for many more years to come, maybe even to times in which we won't be alive anymore. So it doesn't matter that the Phlox is a plant that normally doesn't grow in the dunes, for it gets more than enough minerals from Dobby's energy.

"Graves of magical beings are generally easily recognizable. Because they most often have an abundance of plants and flowers about them, unless, of course, there are charms placed upon the gravestones to keep that from happening.

"There was a period in which I often visited my mother's grave alone; it was a hard time for me and being close to my mother helped me understand."

"Understand what?" Ron asked at once.

Hermione shot him a warning look over her shoulder, he should not have asked, it was far too personal.

The Ravenclaw was silent for a moment and picked a bit of earth from Hermione's hand which still laid on the ground, then she continued as if no one had asked her anything, "Upon my mother's grave stood the most beautiful flowers, colours from the whole palette. It always gave me a sense of warmth, despite the fact that I was there on my own. I would imagine how all those leaves would create protection against the rain so that my mother wouldn't grow wet. That she could lay there in peace."

The Muggle-born wrapped her arms around Luna and hugged her tightly. Their position was slightly uncomfortable, but she had seen the tears appearing in Luna's eyes and felt two hands clutch at her sweater, they sat like this for a while. No one said anything. And the trio ignored the cold that still clung to them as best they could.

A soft chuckle made Hermione loosen her grip and she looked with a hesitant smile at Luna. Whose eyes had become red, yet behind her hand she hid her small smile, "I am glad that you can laugh again."

"You three have been in the sea, with all your clothes on, I only realize this now that my own clothes started to grow wet thanks to yours."

"Oh, I didn't think about it. I am s-"

"Don't be. I hope that the swim was as refreshing as rain can be?" Luna shook her head and looked up at Harry and Ron, who both nodded with slightly awkward smiles on their faces. "One can really enjoy the experience of soaking themselves when they know a warm home awaits them afterwards, don't you think? Also, Fleur has a small surprise for you, I helped with the preparation."

The Ravenclaw hummed as she led the group into the kitchen, with Hermione's hand in hers as if she had felt the Muggle-born's unwillingness to go inside.

"Eet ees good to see that you three are completely soaked, 'elps to keep one refreshed, _non_?" Fleur said lightly. "Still, I wouldn't like a puddle of seawater to form itself een my kitchen; run upstairs to put some fresh clothes on. Then, all you 'ave to do ees follow the scent of 'ot cocoa. Do take your wet clothes back down, they need to be washed."

They did not need to be told twice. And before long Harry and Ron had reappeared. Hermione took a bit longer, for she had to wash the salty water out of her hair, but soon she too came back down in another set of Fleur's clothes. Warm and clean.

They all sat around the kitchen table, a light conversation filled the air. They were told that William and Dean had gone to Muriel's house. To prepare for the rehousing. The Muggle-born had no idea what to do regarding Fleur, so she did not say anything directly at her and avoided looking at her at all costs. It felt stupid to do so, but she got the feeling Fleur avoided looking at her just as badly.

Luna was the first to walk away from the table and disappeared back into the garden. Harry immediately pounced on the opportunity and focussed his eyes on the quarter-Veela, "If it's alright with you we would like to talk to both Griphook and Ollivander?" He asked this politely, yet in his eyes, everyone could see that he would not abide a no.

To his and Ron's surprise, the woman nodded and said, "I know." She took another sip, her eyes upon Harry's.

"Why don't you seem surprised, like, at all?" Ron asked. Harry wondered the same thing.

At this question, Hermione grew fidgety with her fingers and the mug in her hands, she cleared her throat, "Actually, that's my doing. I overheard William speak to Fleur about settling both Griphook and Ollivander in Muriel's a few days ago. So I took Fleur aside and asked if it was possible to wait a few more days." She had forgotten to tell them about this completely. Ron looked at her in alarm, it prompted her to continue, "And no, I have told her nothing else. Who do you think I am, Ron?" A silly smile appeared on his face as the Muggle-born shoved his shoulder lightly.

Fleur watched the interaction. Her mood had not been very pleasant since the incident in the garden this morning, but after Harry's question just now her heart was heavy with worry. This could only mean one thing: the trio would leave soon.

How was she supposed to let them go all on their own? What would they do if Hermione had another setback, what if she would collapse again? In the days they had been here she had gotten the impression that Harry and Ron knew few to nothing about healing spells and potions.

To keep herself from asking these and many more questions Fleur drank the last of her cocoa. She licked her lips and the corners of her mouth clean, during which she ignored Ron's blatant staring, looked at Harry and nodded her approval. She stood up and gathered the mugs to put them in the sink and said, "You know the way."

The trio did not wait. They ascended the stairs; Harry took the lead and knocked on the door of Griphook's room. A grunt came immediately afterwards, then a stumble and a few steps before the door was finally opened.

Hermione had not seen Goblins often in her life, actually only twice - thrice if one counted Professor Flitwick among them, with his Goblin ancestors, but he looked human with only the height of a Goblin. In the summer before her first year at Hogwarts Minerva had taken her to Gringotts to make a bank account, that had obviously been her first time ever seeing these creatures.

She had been too impressed and overwhelmed to really be aware of their appearance. The second time had been at Malfoy Manor, but Hermione had been too caught up in her own pain to be able to observe Griphook then.

Their current situation was a whole different story, now that she stood beside Harry and looked down upon a pair of black beady eyes, Hermione could not help but feel an unease grip her. Griphook looked at them with an expression akin to angry dislike, yet it missed that last dangerous flash.

Still, she made for the windowsill once they were allowed inside. To be as far from the bed, on which Griphook seated himself, as possible. She could not help but notice that the curtains were drawn tightly shut, even though the sky had cleared after her storm had completely flown over. _Is this usual behaviour for a Goblin, to create as much darkness in a room as possible?_ Hermione could not remember seeing any windows in Gringotts, thus, it was a possibility. A soft sigh escaped her as she leaned back against the window, the curtains between her and the glass, her hands on the wooden sill on either side of her.

She studied the Goblin intently. The night of the torture was still vivid in her mind and she knew that Griphook had been brought into the ballroom when she had said the sword to be a fake, but she had not really taken interest in him to look at his features back then. Even so, she knew the gashes that adorned his face were not from his work in Gringotts and they looked too raw to be older than a few weeks. With magic, one could heal to a certain extent, but one's body still had to heal as well. These wounds had to be Bellatrix' doing.

Ron took a seat in the chair and Harry stood at the footboard of the bed, his eyes glued on the Sword of Gryffindor that was propped against the wall. A haughty sniff from Griphook made him look away from it, a frown slowly settled on his face.

The Muggle-born watched hopelessly as a strange sort of tension filled the air, there was nothing she could do about it.

Nevertheless, Harry asked about the Goblin's wellbeing before anything else. _Ever the gentleman,_ she thought fondly.

A grumble, then Griphook spoke, "I am fine, at least I can walk again. Took damned long, though."

"You probably don't remember – " he began.

" – that I was the Goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts? I remember, Harry Potter. Even among Goblins, you are very famous."

The two eyed each other. And Hermione watched their exchange with rapt attention.

Griphook broke the silence. "You buried the Elf... I watched you, from the window of my previous bedroom."

"Yes."

Griphook blinked, Hermione noted it was the first time he did so since they had entered the room. "You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter."

"In what way?"

"You _dug_ the grave."

"So?"

The Muggle-born could barely keep from rolling her eyes at these two. She could not fathom why Harry and Griphook felt the need to prove each other something, and it puzzled her what this something was; it annoyed her, slightly. They made the conversation so much more challenging than it had to be.

Yet she did not interrupt, she did not even stir. Aware that this was something Harry wanted to do on his own, without her opinions voiced aloud. Thus, she listened as the conversation grew more heated. Mostly due to the argument that sparked to life when Ron mingled himself within it. Their argument being about whom of their species had more right to be upset: wizardkind, for they were denied knowledge about the Goblin Forge or Goblins, who were not permitted the use of wands nor anything else regarding wandlore.

However, at some point, Griphook went too far, " ...and who among the wand-carriers protests?"

" _We_ do!" Fire blazed in her eyes as she continued on in one breath, "We protest! And I'm hunted quite as much as any Goblin or Elf, Griphook! For I'm a Mudblood!"

Ron shifted a bit in his chair as he muttered, "Don't call yourself – "

"And why shouldn't I? Mudblood and _proud_ of it! I've no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys'!" She pulled the sleeve up her arm to show the bandages, blood spots were visible (swimming in the ocean had not done any good to the wounds). Then she pointed to the scar on her throat, it was not as prominent anymore as the first few days, but it was likely to remain a line visible for the rest of her life. "Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free? Did you know that we've wanted Elves to be freed for years? You cannot want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!"

She looked straight into the Goblin's eyes and silently dared him to protest again. There came none, instead, she was given a curious stare, as if he saw her for the first time. It was gone in a second and he abruptly turned back towards Harry and asked him what he sought in the Lestrange's vault.

It did not go unnoticed by Hermione that Harry rubbed his lightning scar in an absentmindedly manner, whilst he asked Griphook about other possible objects within the vault. _Is Harry having visions again? Or is it his fidgety habits kicking in?_

Distrust oozed from Griphook as he told them that a certain code from Gringotts kept him from telling them anything about the content of any vault.

And again, as if a switch was turned off and on, his demeanour changed and he averted his eyes back to Hermione. She looked right back at him, her face void of emotions except for a sincere interest. Black beady eyes turned then to Ron but soon glided to Harry. When he spoke again it was with a sort finality to it, "So young, to be fighting so many."

"Will you help us?" Harry asked. "We haven't got any hope of breaking in without the help of a Goblin. You are our one chance."

"I shall... think about it," Griphook said as his eyes landed on the sword propped against the wall.

"But - "

The Muggle-born kicked one of the legs of the chair to draw Ron's attention, to stop him before he would say something foolish again.

"Thank you, we will no longer bother you," Harry said and lead the other two to the landing. Hermione turned around to look at him as Harry shut the door behind them, the Sword of Gryffindor securely in his hand. She was impressed by his mostly cool nature during the conversation and said as much. Which made him smile slightly. Ron did not share the moment, instead, he muttered darkly, "Little git, he's enjoying keeping us hanging."

Hermione countered, "Maybe he does, but don't forget that what we are asking of him goes against his code of honour, by helping us he breaks laws which he has vowed to protect for the rest of his life. Not to mention the dangers we are likely to face." She had not snapped this at him, nor did she sound bossy. Her voice was fairly neutral, despite the fact that she clearly hoped that Ron would try to see the situation from the Goblin's point of view. And it was likely the difference that made him keep quiet as he put his hands in his pockets.

Harry nodded before he knocked on the other door. He had to do so a second time before they heard something happening in the room. Ollivander grinned at seeing them and beckoned them inside. Hermione transfigured the same vase into a chair and sat down, Harry took Ollivander's chair and Ron sat carelessly down on the carpet. Whilst the old man made himself comfortable on his bed. When he was settled with his cushion between his back and the wall he asked, "How can I help you?"

Harry did not respond and his eyes were unfocussed, in fact, Hermione was quite certain that he was still with his head in the conversation with Griphook. She nudged Ron with one foot though he had already seen it and gave Harry's leg a tap. The latter blinked.

"Harry, show him your wand," Hermione said.

He nodded and got from the pouch around his neck his own broken wand. He handed it carefully to the wandmaker and asked if he would be able to repair it. Though the moment after he had asked it, he felt regret blossom in his chest, for Ollivander's facial features told him everything he needed to know.

"Holly, with a Phoenix feather as the core. Eleven inches. Unable to mend this. I am very sorry, but I don't think that any wandmaker could be capable of such a feat," Ollivander whispered dejectedly. He muttered on, but it was too soft and rapid for the trio to understand his words.

There was a moment of silence wherein Harry debated with himself whether he should or should not ask the next question and if he should then how could he best formulate it. At some point, he decided that the answers to the questions were not important to their cause and he feared they would only distraught the old man, unnecessarily so. There was only one more question he really needed an answer to, though this one was just as likely to upset Ollivander.

"Mister, do you know if You-Know-Who is after the Elder Wand?"

Hermione watched with a pang of regret as all the colour was drained from Ollivander's face with this single question. The man's hands tightened around the broken wand as if it would still be capable of protecting him if need be.

"H-How –"

"It doesn't matter, sir, please, give me an answer. That is all I need to know."

Hermione understood Ollivander's fear, for Harry had told them about the visions he had gotten from the Voldemort as the man had tortured the wandmaker. She thought it tactless of Harry to ask about this so blatantly, but then again, was there any good way to ask it? In all honesty, she doubted it. Other, softer approaches to the subject would just take longer and would distract them all. Which made Harry's direct approach the best he could have done.

"I... I... Yes," Ollivander whispered, his eyes were as round as saucers and were filled with fear. "He t-t-tortured me for information..."

"Thank you, we know enough then," Harry said and tried to smile reassuringly before he stood up and left through the door. Ron followed him after he had nodded respectfully at Ollivander.

Hermione did not follow at once, for she did not want to leave the old man in such a state of shock. Instead, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and looked at Ollivander with the same warmth in her eyes she had gotten from him the day before. He looked at her for a dozen seconds, in which she thought he slightly calmed. And she was about to reassure him with a kind word, when he grasped her hands and whispered, "Be careful, sweet girl. You-Know-Who is an evil man. And I want to honour my promise to you; I want to reopen my shop and have the pleasure to help you with the search for your own wand."

She smiled and nodded, "Thank you, Mister Ollivander.

"And don't mind Harry's direct approach on the subject, he is troubled by something. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Of course, of course, the boy has a lot on his mind, I can imagine." He said and squeezed her hands, the sad smile was unable to reach through the fear that was still evident in his eyes. "Do stay alive, Miss Granger."

"I will try my best, sir. Have a good day." She stood up to join her friends, but Ollivander would not let her hands go before he squeezed them one last time. It felt to her as if his manner was one of a parent, it made a lump form in her throat, one she could not swallow away. She nodded and gave a last wave at the door.

Ron was not on the landing when she closed the door behind her, he had likely gone downstairs, but Harry had waited for her and together they went to the first floor and sat down in Luna and Hermione's room. Each sat on the edge of one bed, so they could face each other.

"What do you think about Griphook?" asked Harry, whilst he looked at the sword in his hand. The light that came from outside gleamed down upon it and made it shine as if there was electricity within it.

"Not so much, to be honest. He is a person with his own quirks. What we asked him is not something to be considered lightly, so is it really that strange that he needs to ponder about the plan?" Hermione shrugged, then she tapped Harry's foot with her own and said lightly, "You can't expect others to jump at the opportunity to help fight against You-Know-Who, even though _you_ would do just that. Don't you know that by now, Harry?"

"Yeah, yeah." He said non-committedly, "Yet you and Ron pushed yourselves on me at the start of this blasted hunt."

"And I am glad I did, the amount of times I have saved your ass with one spell or another is ridiculous."

A barky laugh and a thrown pillow were the answers she got. The Muggle-born threw it right back. Harry grinned and set it back on the bed as he asked, "What about your Beaded Bag?"

"What about it?" She asked and then continued, "You know I lost it. I don't know who has it now, if it wasn't destroyed."

"I know, but is there a replacement? I mean, we need a place to keep all that we have together."

A glimmer appeared in Hermione's eyes as she grabbed blindly underneath her bed. And as she got what she needed and brought it up for Harry to admire she could not help but smile. In her hands, she held a small shoulder bag, made of black leather and with a barely visible pattern of flowers upon it. This was an old bag from Fleur, which she wanted the trio to use during the rest of their mission. The Muggle-born told Harry that she had enchanted the bag with the same spells as the previous one. Even though there was not that much to put in it. Currently, it contained a small stash of potions, a new tent and enough canned food to last them a few weeks if they eat sparingly.

Harry perked up at the information, the tension in his shoulders grew slightly less obvious. He nodded his head to the door, "Let's go downstairs, I need a drink."

In the kitchen, Hermione rummaged in the pantry to look for a Calming Draught, not for herself, but for Ollivander. The old man had clearly still been unsettled when she had walked away, a little calm would not be unwise for his health. She found it and set it on the counter, then took a glass from one of the cupboards and filled it with water. Only when that was done did she hear the stomping sound on the stairs. Hermione turned around with a question evident on her face, Harry - who sat on a chair at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea in hand - looked up as well. Ron was somewhere in the living room, talking to Fleur.

From where each sat or stood they could see the stairs and they watched as Griphook appeared. The Goblin stayed in the hall and let his eyes travel to the living room, then those beady black eyes travelled into the kitchen and looked from Hermione to Harry. At last, he croaked, loud and clear, "I'll do it." And without another word, he walked to the front door and disappeared from view.

There was a moment of total silence in the house, in which Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Then suddenly the trio began to gather all their stuff. Hermione hastily scribbled a note to go with the glass of water, telling the wandmaker that she had dripped a bit of the Calming Draught in it and banished it upstairs, to land upon the bedside table. Afterwards, she summoned the shoulder bag and their few toiletries that were scattered in the rooms upstairs, all whilst she put on her boots.

When they had everything the trio stood in the hall, gazing at each other in bewilderment. That had gone a lot faster than expected. "I... Luna," Hermione whispered and started to walk to the garden. A hand around her wrist held her in the hall for a moment longer, she looked at Harry expectantly.

"Be quick," he said, "and say goodbye for me."

She answered in a whisper, "Only if you thank Fleur for me as well, for everything that they have done for us."

Harry nodded, a glimmer of sad confusion in his eyes as he did. He wondered for the second time what had happened in the morning that made Fleur and Hermione act so indifferent towards each other. It was like their friendship had never existed. He made a mental note that he would ask about the reason for this change.

As she had suspected she found the Ravenclaw in the garden. When Luna saw her a smile appeared on her lips, though it vanished once she saw the seriousness on Hermione's face.

Luna stood up from her spot and was halfway turned to face Hermione when the older one threw her arms around her. She hugged her friend with a certain desperation. And she was glad to feel two arms tighten around her with just as much strength.

"You are important to me," Hermione whispered as she hid her face in Luna's blonde hair. Knowing that she could be facing her death within a few hours spurred Hermione to voice what neither of them had dared to say all these years, "You and Harry are my dearest friends. Please take care of yourself, don't let Death Eaters - nor anyone else, for that matter - capture you again."

The Muggle-born could hear the smile in Luna's voice, "Don't forget that Death Eaters are humans too, Hermione. Forgetting such a crucial thing could make things worse." The Ravenclaw began to loosen her grip, as she did she planted a kiss on Hermione's cheek and caressed the other cheek with her hand. Her eyes held sadness in them, but it was smothered by the appearance of conviction, "I believe in your triumph."

Hermione nodded, glad to hear the words, "I've to go now." And with that, she went into the kitchen, walked tentatively to the hallway, debating for the last time if she really should not go to say goodbye to Fleur in person, and finally made for the front door. Too late did she realize that she had forgotten to pass Harry's goodbye to Luna. Outside, Harry, Ron and Griphook waited for her. Together they made their way to the dunes, Hermione did not look back at Shell Cottage, afraid she would not be able to go through with the plan.

* * *

William returned to the house to find his wife seated in the living room, she sat in a corner of the couch whilst she stared at the fire. In her lap laid her own journal on the Cruciatus Curse, open at the last written page. Clearly, she had intended to continue writing on it, yet no quill was near the paper. In fact, it lay uselessly on the ground. The inkwell unopened and toppled beside it.

The house was eerily quiet in comparison to what he had grown to expect and had even gotten used to. He knew at once what had happened.

He sat down beside her and put his hand on her knee to garner her attention. She stirred and blinked. There were no tears in her eyes, but he saw that they were red-rimmed and slightly puffy. Her dark blue eyes showed fear, fear of what was to come. And he could not blame her, only a fool would live without fear in times such as these.

"They will be alright, honeys," he said and smiled reassuringly.

His words did not work, for she said, "You don't know that, no one does... What will 'appen to them?"

She took in a shaky breath and steeled herself. The words that followed were said like a promise, "We 'ave to do something. I can no longer 'ide. I am a Delacour, for Merlin's sake!"


	6. A Lioness' Denn

A tray appeared out of nowhere and landed with a soft thud on the bedside table. Ollivander clutched at his chest in shock, his instinct made him lean away from the object. However, as his eyes looked at the tray and saw the glass of water that stood upon it, his heart rate slowed gradually. What he did not understand was why Fleur had not brought it up, like all the previous times she had brought him something to drink or eat. Until his eyes fell upon the note which was stuck between the glass and the tray. Curiosity arose in him. He reached out for the paper and carefully nicked it from between the two objects. With his other hand, he reached automatically for his eyeglasses, which he had always worn atop of his head. When he grasped only his hair, he had to remind himself that his glasses had been lost ever since his abduction, like all his other possessions.

The wandmaker sighed in defeat and shifted to sit more comfortably on his bed. Then he held the note as far from his eyes as he could and turned his face this way and that until he was able to read the curling handwriting upon it.

The last words were barely legible, as the writing seemed to be rushed for a hurried departure. He had to squint his eyes to read the words, his lips pursed in concentration.

_Dear Mister Ollivander,_

_I wanted to bring you this cup of water with a few drops of Calming Draught in it, but a sudden change of events has me in a hurry to leave._

_Thank you for everything._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Hermione J. Granger._

He let his hands and the note lower in his lap once he had deciphered the last words. In him, there bloomed a fondness for the young woman. They had talked for less than two hours, yet she had shown him nothing but kindness, integrity and an eagerness to learn. Three aspects of a person's personality that had always been of great importance in Ollivander's opinion.

The wandmaker reached out towards the glass of water, for he needed some sleep and knew that it would only come when his thoughts were not as chaotic as they were now. When the glass was empty and upon the tray once more he felt the promised calmness slowly take over his body and mind. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment and prayed to Merlin that the Golden Trio would succeed in defeating the Dark Lord.

* * *

Harry took the Invisibility cloak from the poach around his neck, whilst Hermione, who was no longer herself but the very image of Bellatrix Lestrange, transfigured her - Fleur's - clothes to become the dress, corset, boots and hand and arm wear Hermione had last seen on the Death Eater.

The Muggle-born was grateful that she did not have to see her own reflection anywhere. For she did not want to see anyone but herself looking back at her, least of all Bellatrix Lestrange.

The group had walked out of the wards that surrounded Shell Cottage, for they made it impossible to Apparate in and out of the grounds. During this walk, the trio had told the Goblin of their plan of action. Griphook had snorted at the absurdity of it, he likely saw the odds of the plan, the holes it contained; yet he did not remark upon it. Something which worried Hermione greatly. There were things they did not know about Gringotts which could likely be of importance to their break-in. However, no matter how either three of them formulated their questions towards Griphook, he did not relent. Instead, he told them over and over again that he was unable to share any of his knowledge about the bank since it was against his vows.

This made Ron furious and he began to accuse the Goblin of foul play, saying that he, Griphook, had come along just jeopardize their plans.

It was Hermione who stopped him in the middle of his rant. And just like before, on the landing in Shell Cottage, she defended Griphook. She told Ron he should not forget that a code of honour could not be taken lightly. That breaking it would be just as disastrous as with the Unbreakable Vow, maybe not at once but in the long-term. And after pointing this out to him Hermione added her own opinion, that she thought it to be honourable of Griphook that, even after his forced escape from Gringotts, he was still loyal to his code.

At this, the Goblin stared at her with suspicion written all over his features; studying her as if she was a potentially fake galleon, and, no matter how he turned her around in his fingers, he was not entirely sure if she was a replica or not. It made her fidget with one of the many lace pieces on Bellatrix' handwear. Absentmindedly she wondered how the Death Eater kept herself from constantly fingering the material.

At last, Griphook let his beady black eyes glide over to Ron with a heavy sigh and croaked, "Mister Weasley," he looked him up and down as if to gauge how much of a threat he was. Likely he saw no threat at all, for the Goblin continued with a sneer on his face, "I can assure you that there is no need for anger. I may not give you the answers you want, but I can promise you that you will have them accounted for once we walk through the doors behind the Grandmaster Goblin's seat. And I will make sure to navigate you through it all, alive and well."

Griphook's attitude and words only bristled Ron all the more, but a pat from Harry on his shoulder made him bite his tongue, to keep his nasty retorts to himself.

"So," Harry started to recount their plan of action in a minimalistic list, "I will carry you on my back, while we are under the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione pretends to be Bellatrix. And Ron will take on the identity of Dragomir Despard, a foreigner of the Middle-East and new to being a Death Eater." Hermione was already busy with the transfiguration of Ron's facial features. The result became gradually visible. All the while Harry continued, "We will Apparate to Diagon Alley, just before The Leaky Cauldron, to be precise. And you will help us get into the vault. In-between the tavern and Gringotts we are likely to walk into trouble; remember to stay calm. We can handle a lot as long as we stay together and with our minds clear of any panic."

He eyed his dearest friend and had minutely difficulty believing that the dark witch who stood before him was in reality Hermione. A mixture of emotions manifested themselves within him. For he was painfully reminded of the fact that he had lost his godfather because of this blasted woman. Yet he still saw the kindness of Hermione seep through the otherwise cold and hateful features of the Death Eater.

Harry ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to make the anger he felt for the real Bellatrix disappear. This was a semi-Bellatrix, this was his friend Hermione Granger. And as if she had heard his troubled thoughts she looked up at him, after the transfiguration of Ron's face was done, and smiled encouragingly. For a second he did not see those dark brown eyes, instead, a lighter brown, Hermione's brown, seemed to break through the darkness. As if by merely looking at him Hermione was able to break through the magical concealment. This was an impossible feat, he was aware that it was not real, he liked to believe it happened. Still, Harry felt grateful for this moment, for her silent support.

Yet he could not help but chide gently, "Hermione, you have to act indifferent, proud and hateful, don't forget that."

Semi-Bellatrix nodded her consent. Her face turned into an unreadable mask, her features as serious as could possibly be.

_I hope we can make this plan work_ , he thought to himself.

As Harry crouched down he felt how Griphook climbed upon his back. The Goblin's small hands clutched at his shoulders with a death grip, luckily it did not hurt him. He watched how semi-Bellatrix threw his Invisibility Cloak over them and stood upright. She readjusted the cloak a bit and then nodded her approval.

Griphook took his chance to speak once more, his suspicion clear in his voice, "Mister Potter, I want to remind you of our deal. After my services the Sword of Gryffindor is _mine_."

"Yes, yes," he nodded somewhat impatient, "You will get it once we have what we need. You have my word of honour."

"Harry, hold on tight, and you as well Griphook," Hermione said and felt Harry strengthen his grip on her hand, it bordered on being painful. Yet she did not want it any other way, in fear of being separated along the Apparation. Instead, she gave further instructions to the Goblin, "It would be best for you to close your eyes, the first few times are the most horrid ones. And as far as I know, Goblins are not known for Apparating, so... prepare for dizziness and disorientation. It will be over soon though - "

"Hermione," came Harry's voice. His interruption was gentle, for he knew her to be one to give fast amounts of information when nervous or scared, though in most of those situations only when someone asked her something. Normally she would not give these information dumps of her own accord as she did now. Especially thorough their Horcrux Hunt she had learned to keep from rambling, unless necessary.

Harry did not want to think of what this could mean. He knew behaviour spoke louder than words; Hermione was wary of what was to come. And righteously so.

"Yes, right. Here we go..." She closed her eyes and concentrated on their next location. A soft poof was all that one could have heard as the group Apparated away, but the wind made it blend in with nature's melody.

* * *

Muggles walked past them; they were completely oblivious to the tavern and the group that suddenly appeared before it.

As they opened their eyes the Leaky Cauldron stood before them, it was the very same image Hermione held in her memories. Nothing had changed in its appearance. Not a single sign of deferred maintenance to be seen.

Hermione was glad to see that not all of wizarding England had become a victim of the New Order. There were too many shops that had been forced to close, or worse, of which the shop owners had vanished completely because of their heritage or outspoken opinions.

Then again that also meant that the Leaky Cauldron was visited by more than merely the 'usual, harmless people'. It had likely become a meeting point, a nest, for Death Eaters or, at the very least, Snatchers. Everyone needed a place to enjoy a good meal and a few pints of Butterbeer, even Voldemort's followers. And the Dark Lord was not a fool, he had to keep his folk merry and satiated for them to be willing to abide by his will. Indeed, fear could control masses, but loyal followers brought a cause so much further.

Semi-Bellatrix felt one last squeeze from Harry's hand before their connection broke. And she knew he would take to stand between her and Ron, just as they had planned. That way it was less likely for strangers to bump into Harry and Griphook. And it would not raise any questions when people saw that Ron kept at least a meter distance from Mistress Lestrange, for it was a sign of well-deserved respect, if somewhat fearful.

She steeled herself and brought all her pride to the surface, set her chin high and frowned, in the hope that a moody Bellatrix was just as intimidating as a crazy one.

Semi-Bellatrix took the lead, as one of Voldemort's most trusted followers it was only logical for her to be the first to enter any building.

As she magically opened the door the sound of a full tavern welcomed them. However, the moment she stepped through the small hallway and into the eating area the merriment subsided and ultimately completely silenced. Not a soul dared to make a sound, they did not even cough. Grown men and women, one dressed in shabbier clothes than the other, did not dare meet Hermione's eyes. The latter made sure to stand with her full height and look around as if she owned the place.

She decided to show the evilest smile she could muster, with the utmost classy grace, of course; for everything Bellatrix did was with sashay. Slowly the corners of her mouth turned upwards and she bared her broken teeth to everyone in the room. Her smile as threatening as a wolf who bared its fangs. Some people actually shuddered in their seats. Others paled.

It made one wonder what Bellatrix Lestrange had done to grow this infamous, even amongst the followers of Voldemort.

* * *

Harry felt like a ghost. One of the Muggle stories, invisible to the eyes of humans, magical or not. Not like the ghosts at Hogwarts, who could be seen by anyone and who exchanged civil words, if the desire arose in them, with whomever they deemed interesting.

Before they had entered the building, Harry had put a Muffliato Charm on himself, just to be sure that he would not make any noise. And now he was glad he had, for the silence that followed after semi-Bellatrix presented herself in the doorway of the tavern was deafening. He looked around, from one man or woman to the other and saw the fear plastered on their faces, not a single soul tried to look defiant.

Though Harry realized something as he observed them. Not one of them wore the clothes of the elite. These people were all low-ranked followers. Probably all of them were Snatchers, if not of even lesser rank if that was possible.

Their fear was understandable, even if they thought themselves just as good in a duel as Bellatrix Lestrange, they would not dare to lift a finger against her, in fear of the consequences. This was something the trio should not forget, for it meant they had not yet faced real danger. Death Eaters would not be scared as easily.

Eventually, Harry let his eyes land on semi-Bellatrix as well. What he saw shocked and slightly disturbed him, for he saw the spitting image of Bellatrix Lestrange; not only in her appearance but her personality as well. Hermione acted just like the real Death Eater.

He watched with sick fascination as one of her mad grins appeared on her lips. Griphook's nails dug through his shirt, a sign that he too was not comfortable with what he saw. Harry bit his lip to keep from hissing out his pain, but he was not even annoyed with the Goblin, for he understood perfectly well that seeing semi-Bellatrix like this brought memories of Malfoy Manor to the surface.

* * *

Hermione sauntered through the silent tavern without any haste, her heels clicked against the floor with every step she took. And she did something childishly stupid at every table she passed. With a flick of her wrist, the liquid in all the glasses on one table vanished. At another table, she hexed the pepper and salt holders to empty their contents all over the meals. On passing the following table she made the candle dance around and set fire to the newspaper.

By now the silence had grown into subdued dismay, yet no one pointed their wands at her. All men and women shrunk back into the shadows, in an effort to hide from possible pranks and dangers.

She was about to make the hat on the next wizard's head shrink when something pulled at her dress ever so slightly. Semi-Bellatrix twirled around in an instant, her wand ready in hand and an angry scowl in place.

However, for a split-second, she forgot who she pretended to be, at this moment her face was not contorted in hate. Because what she saw scared her, made her realize even more how cruel she currently acted. But it was only the tiniest moment of weakness. Tom's fearful gaze and stammered plea 'if she could please stop bothering his customers' was not enough to make her halt the non-verbal Stunner that made him crash into one of his pantries. He would have some nasty bruises on his body from the impact.

What she said next made her want to vomit, but she knew that if she would not say this her whole act would have been for nought. "Don't you dare touch me, filth!" She spat angrily his way.

* * *

Harry had seen Hermione's true feelings as they had simmered through the facade in that split-second. It had been a minuscule thing. One could only have seen it if they had bothered to look for it, yet it made his heart hammer in his chest in fear.

His eyes searched through the room to see if there was anyone who would accuse them of being fakes. However, none had their eyes on semi-Bellatrix, they all watched the damage that had been done or looked deliberately the other way, as if not seeing made it all disappear.

* * *

Hermione looked around and met any pair of eyes with her deadliest glare. None of them held her gaze at all, for no one dared to even look at her. She holstered her wand in a swift motion and barged past the last remaining tables. On her way to the back of the tavern she made sure people shrieked in fear as she made glasses and tankards explode, made candles set all papers alight and transfigured all unoccupied chairs into angry rats.

Once they were all through the backdoor - Harry let his presence know by the soft brush of the Cloak against her fingers - semi-Bellatrix magically smashed the door close and warded it at once. She checked if there were any windows in the walls surrounding them to worry about, there were none.

Thus, when the last of the simple wards - though they were enough to grant them a bit of time and privacy - were placed, Hermione took a shuddering breath and let it go in a broken manner. She clutched the brick wall for support, for she was afraid her knees would buckle beneath her. Her breath was shallow as she rested her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes.

It felt to her as if these few minutes in the tavern had brought her close to a mental breakdown.

_Of all the people... I have to pretend to be_ her _._ _Why couldn' one of Narcissa's hairs have landed on my clothes?_ She knew the chance for such an incident to have happened back in Malfoy Manor had been non-existent. Since it had not been the youngest Black sister who had circled her like an animal, nor had she been the one who carved with a knife in her arm, and neither had she held that same knife to Hermione's throat. No, it had all been Bellatrix. One of the worst Muggle haters alive. A person who is known for her tendency to taunt, humiliate and defeat anyone on her path, no matter if they were of magical birth or not.

It was not the first time that Hermione wondered what someone had to experience in their life to become such an aggressive person, someone who constantly felt the need to have control over others and to make them suffer. Were such desires born from nature or nurture, or was it a combination of both? It was probably a subject for a never-ending discussion.

She took a deep breath and pulled herself together. As she opened and blinked her eyes, Ron's worried gaze was the first she saw. In an automatism, she searched for Harry's eyes but had to remind herself that she could not see him at the moment, no matter how hard she would try. Though she had a feeling that he stood close to her right. And she was correct, for it was the direction from which his voice came when he spoke softly, "You did well, don't give up now."

"'Well'? Bloody Hell, that is an understatement, really. Back there I thought we had lost our girl," Ron said, a blush appeared on his cheeks from embarrassment for his own words. Ron had his heart on his sleeve, he rarely thought before he opened his mouth; he had always done as such and probably always would. He rubbed the nape of his neck, he clearly did not know what to say next.

Semi-Bellatrix straightened herself, brushed the dirt from her dress and said with a voice void of any emotion, "Either way I am disgusted with myself, so let's get this over with, shall we? I don't want to _be_ her any longer than necessary." She briskly made her way to the wall that was the portal to Diagon Alley. And she tapped in an assured manner on every brick, she had the pattern memorized by heart ever since she had first seen McGonagall do it. Hermione emerged herself in the act of being Bellatrix all over again and marched through Diagon Alley with pride in every step, but not before she had taken down the wards she had placed earlier on the back door of the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione noticed that Diagon Alley had changed for the worse, to her inner horror. The Leaky Cauldron was not a good representative of the state of the shopping district at all. It may even be the only place not shagged down and neglected. Because the few shops that were still open looked like they did not even want any customers. Windows had cracks in them or were completely broken; stones had been thrown through many. The gloomy weather did not make the atmosphere in the district any better.

And then there were those horrible posters that were plastered on any surface that was big enough.

Undesirable No. 1 Harry J. Potter.

Undesirable No. 2 Hermione J. Granger.

Undesirable No. 3 Ronald B. Weasley.

The photos used for Harry and Hermione were all motionless, just normal Muggle photos, nothing magical about them. They probably had not been able to find any magical photos. She recognized hers to be from her passport, how the Death Eaters had managed to gain possession of that was a mystery to her, for she had it burned with all the other photos from herself within her parents' home. Though she had a suspicion that they had dug the photo up from somewhere in the many databases of the Muggle government.

Ron's photo, on the other hand, viewed him from when he was a bit younger. It was the photo Ginny had taken on a summer day when Harry and Hermione had been at the Burrow. They had visited the small lake near the house and had thrown stones over the surface of the water. Ron had just made a throw when Ginny pushed the button and called his name. Creating an image in which the young boy gazed into the distance and then suddenly looked up with a questioning gaze to the viewer, only to look away in embarrassment. After that, it would play all over again. If it was not been on this poster the photo would have been endearing.

Hermione had never seen the photo before, even though she had been there on the day of the making. It was likely Ron had not liked it back then, preferring not to share it with others.

She absorbed all this information with a single glance at the posters, for she knew she could not take her time to study them. Ron was the only one who let a displeased grunt escape him.

Instead, she focussed her eyes on the high roof of Gringotts. It was said to be the safest place in the whole of Britain or second best, for some had always believed Hogwarts to be even safer. That is, until Dumbledore's death.

In a few minutes, she would be inside of that building, one with thick walls, few or no windows at all and a warding system that rivalled the one of Hogwarts. Breaking in probably was not the most difficult part, it was the escaping the bank part which would promise the most dangerous. She had read enough novels about adventures to know that caves and tombs could have the scariest and most ingenious of traps. The hairs on her neck stood upright at the mere thought.

Gringotts loomed far above them now, they were getting close.

The faint noise of a stumble to her right caught her attention and Hermione had her wand out as she faced the shadows in her peripheral vision. Bellatrix probably would not have reacted as she just had - the Death Eater was simply too self-assured - but Hermione could not stop the reflexes she had honed over all these years, ever since the first DA meeting.

At wand point, stood a man with hollow cheeks and a horrible stench that hung about him. His skin and clothes were covered in dirt. In his eyes, there was a certain glint which brought chills to Hermione's skin.

The beggar reached out to her, his voice a weird mix of a croak and a high-pitched sound, "Children... My children... Where are they?! WHAT HAS HE DONE TO MY CHILDREN!?" The man tried to throw himself upon semi-Bellatrix, but a Stunner from Ron made his stiffened form fall to the ground.

His fear, desperation and anger had all come through his voice and had been just as immobilizing to Hermione as a Stunner. And thereby came the hatred in his eyes... It had felt in that moment like she was a deer in the headlights. Unable to do anything but stand there and accept the consequences.

She mouthed a thank you to Ron for his aid and started to walk away right after that. They had to be far from that place before other beggars would get the same idea.

The words which were spoken by this person - this father figure - had chilled her to the bones. Images of all sorts of grotesque possibilities flashed before her inner eyes, as to what could have happened to the children. Instant dead being one of the kindest possibilities. It made actual bile come up her throat, she had to clench her jaws upon each other to keep it within.

Though they had not even walked further than ten metres when a lump settled in her throat, for her eyes had landed upon what had once been Ollivander's shop. It had completely blackened because of a fire, she had no doubt that it had been set alight by whoever had abducted the wandmaker.

Ollivander's whole life work had been burned down to ashes.

Had he been forced to watch as all his belongings and creations were destroyed by the fire? How many wands had been in there? ...Had it been Bellatrix? Had she used Fiendfyre to make this beautiful shop turn to ashes?

Hermione averted her eyes, she could not study the building for too long. She had to uphold her role, had to play her part. With her eyes on Gringotts, she steeled herself anew. There would be more horrors to face, but she had to keep herself together. This break-in had to succeed and without her, it would end with a lot more destruction and deaths than necessary.

Chin high, a steeled resolve and an alert yet haughty posture. Semi-Bellatrix did not blink in surprise when Travers, a real Death Eater, walked in on them from an adjoined street. She pinned him down with an unnerved gaze as he greeted her and the 'new one'.

"Thought that our Lord had grounded you?" Travers commented, his posture relaxed. Clearly, Harry's earlier assumptions that Death Eaters are not as afraid of one another as Snatchers are, was correct. Harry clenched his jaws to keep his anger to himself, luck was rarely on their side and it could be excruciatingly frustrating. Then again, he had avoided, at times barely, Death quite a lot in his short life. Either way, Harry had his eyes on Travers and his wand drawn, his patience was close to non-existent.

Meanwhile, the real Death Eater continued, "Ah well, you probably have a good reason to be off the hook." He eyed Ron who stood about a meter behind semi-Bellatrix. "Is that a new recruit? Where from? Ireland? They have a lot of redheads there, so I have heard."

"Don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong, Travers," semi-Bellatrix snapped.

The man narrowed his eyes at her and was silent for a moment. Tension electrified the air between the trio, charging to a higher voltage with each passing second. Time in which Hermione had a Protego Duo on the tip of her tongue, in which Harry still had his wand pointed straight towards Travers' torso and in which Ron was torn if he should say something or not.

"Fine," snapped Travers at last, equally fierce, "whatever suits you best." He was silent again and observed semi-Bellatrix a little longer, then he muttered, as if to himself, "Shouldn't have asked, you never were one for small talk." Then he turned towards Ron, though only vague interest was evident, "What's your name, fellow?"

"Dragomir Despair, come from Middle-East Europe." This was one of the few times Ron's ability to mimic sounds and accents came in handy, for he did not falter once in his heavy accent.

"Have you shown this champ to Knockturn Alley? Bet you haven't even been there yourself yet, have you?" He turned back to semi-Bellatrix again, the sour attitude of moments ago seemingly forgotten, "Never one to enjoy such luxuries. Though you should see it, Knockturn has grown and become the main street of this Magical part of London."

"Doubt it has anything of interest. And either - " Hermione said but was cut short.

"Don't say that you haven't even seen the new bookstores yet. Let me show you two around, this new recruit needs to see the good our Lord can do."

_What does this man want?_ Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, she got the inkling that he had feelings for Bellatrix, for he was far too eager to talk to and be with her.

She sniffed in disdain and continued with a harsh tone, " _Either_ _way_ , I have things to take care of." She was about to bid him a good day, but she stilled the words on her tongue, not sure whether Bellatrix would do such a thing. _Probably not, too indifferent to people in general, other than her family and her Lord, of course._

Something in Travers' face changed. He tried to mask the hurt, yet failed. Still, he nodded in earnest, "Let me escort you then." The Death Eater straightened himself, ran a hand through his hair, offered his arm and smiled, "Where to, my lady?"

Hermione was flabbergasted and slightly disgusted. He was openly flirting with her. Did he not know Bellatrix was married? No, of course, he knew, everybody did, he just did not care. To her great relieve she saw his eyes turn slightly paler for a second and at once the man began to walk in another direction. The Imperius Curse. Ron had not moved a single muscle, so she knew that it was Harry's doing. She drew her wand and pointed it at Traver's back and Obliviated him before he could disappear around a corner.

The street was empty except for them, but Hermione doubted that no one had seen them. Beggars _lived_ on these streets, they must know how to watch someone without being seen themselves.

She could not set a fast pace, it would be too obvious to anyone that she was unnerved. But she did turn towards Gringotts at once and made to walk with a fast stride, she did not want to waste a single second.

There were no more interruptions, yet it felt as if it took them an hour to get to their destination. Dread for meeting another Death Eater, or being assaulted by ten beggars all at once made Hermione glance at every shadow in the alley.

As the steps to the front doors stood before them Hermione was reminded of the other plan she had come up with during their days at Shell Cottage. A plan she had not told a single living being about. Not even Harry, especially not Harry. For he would never agree, there was no way she could ever convince him of this plan. Since it would take her own life in the process and it would not even ascertain that Harry and Ron a way out of the bank, there was too much about the warding system of the Goblin's that was unknown to wizarding kind and which could probably jeopardize her secret plan.

And now that the thick walls of Gringotts were in her sight and so close, with its strong Goblin-made fortification system, she began to doubt her secret plan's chance of success even more. It was a good thing she had never hinted to its existence.

Harry used the Confundus Charm on the guards who stood beside the doors, just as they had agreed to do. The guards' serious scowls turned into dreamy gazes and the group could easily walk past them. Though before she entered the building Hermione Obliviated these men whilst she walked past the open doors. One could never be too cautious.

The next obstacle would probably prove more difficult: the Head Goblin. Then again, Griphook had assured them that with Hermione as Bellatrix and a well-acted demand to enter her vault it should not be that complicated, it would do the trick.

Semi-Bellatrix entered the hall of busy Goblins with her chin high and a grimace on her face, to convey to everyone that she disliked being here, yet still with a defiant look in her eyes. She could hear Ron walk behind her, the sound of his heavy boots was easily recognized. It was a reassurance, for it meant she was not going in alone.

Despite their entrance the Goblins did not seem to notice them at first; quills scribbled feverously on parchment; all kinds of stamps and different coloured wax was constantly brought from one Goblin to another by one of the servant Goblins; piles of galleons were counted, weighed, studied and put into one bag or another. However, as she had passed a few of the tables Goblins started to look up. With the echoes of her boots that clicked on the marble she practically demanded their attention. A sound which gave Hermione a certain feeling of power, to her utter embarrassment. Slowly one Goblin after the other glanced in their direction and as they recognized her they blatantly stared at her. Not in a shocked way, more like they saw a human for the first time and she was the perfect specimen to observe. Beady black eyes became even smaller as many squinted in their direction. It felt to Hermione as if the Goblins had anticipated her arrival, she hoped that her intuition was wrong.

_This is a trap. Bellatrix is here. She can be everywhere, around each corner, behind each object or hidden somewhere in the shadows. We are doomed..._ She ignored the thoughts with all her might, instead she focussed her attention on the way she walked. Acting as someone else was far more difficult than one might think, for you had to constantly be aware of your movements and behaviour, mimic them in all their different little characteristics. And, most important of all, one should not fall back into their own behaviour.

The banging of a small wooden object upon a larger wooden surface made all Goblins return to their duties abruptly. Semi-Bellatrix let her eyes wander to the Head Goblin, who had been the one to cause the noise. A small hammer laid atop of his towering table. He did not show any interest in her, for he let his attention go back to his work instantly.

The quill in his hand was of a species Hermione had never seen before, it was a large plume of a dark brown colour with amber markings around the edges.

They arrived at the end of the hall, semi-Bellatrix glared to the Goblin who towered above her thanks to his seat. Still, he did not give her the smallest hint of acknowledgement, thus she decided to verbally demand it, "I need to go to my fault and I don't want to waste my time here, so be quick about it."

"Of course, of course, Mistress Lestrange," he did not look up from the parchment he was writing on as he beckoned for someone with his hand. From behind the high table appeared a small Goblin, his head practically laid in his neck as he looked up to the Head Goblin and waited for the next command without any complaint.

Semi-Bellatrix sniffed her dislike and crossed her arms over her chest.

Ron played his part in being a passive-aggressive presence well, for he stood like a looming shadow behind the Death Eater glaring his darkest glares to the Goblins in the room. Which in itself was not of any difficulty to him, he just let his true distrust towards the Goblins show. Something he would never voice aloud in the presence of Hermione, even though he knew that he had never been very discreet about his opinion about them.

Time ticked on endlessly and semi-Bellatrix was about to do something about it when the Head Goblin produced a grunt. It prompted the Goblin at the feet of his chair to act at once. He scurried away to another aisle, to return with a ring on which dozens of keys were attached. And with three more objects in his hands which the small Goblin called Clankers as he thrust two towards the Death Eaters, for them to grab.

The woman snatched one from his hand with a sneer on her face. She had no idea what these instruments were used for other than making a lot of noise; because in her harsh movement the bell clanked against the metal that surrounded it. Which was above the usual decibels. It was something that could clearly make a horrible banging noise if used properly.

She buckled it on her belt and put a Muffliato Charm upon it. Then she looked at the Goblins with one eyebrow raised. When she looked upwards she saw that the Head Goblin had been studying her carefully. His quill laid forgotten on the tabletop. Small beady black eyes squinted down upon her. His crooked and knobbly hands had entwined their fingers as he showed a sneer of his own. "Well, Mistress Lestrange, you are as lovely as ever," he said.

Hermione got the creeps from this creature and knew then that she would likely never feel truly comfortable being among Goblins. Though she suppressed all these thoughts and emotions carefully, her face almost passive in the arrogance that oozed from her. She suspected he was being sarcastic, but it was hard to tell because the creature had such a monotonous voice. In the end, she opted to stay silent and glared up at him.

He nodded in the absence of her response, "I take it the man behind you is to accompany us?"

"Yes, though it is none of your business as to why."

"Wrong, everything that goes on in this bank _is_ my business... Mistress Lestrange." He spoke her title and surname as if it was a simple side note like it was something to be discarded, something useless.

He had an attitude which the real Bellatrix would never tolerate. What would the real woman do, cause pain, make the environment a mess, use one of the lesser Goblins as an example, or 'simply' kill? All these possibilities spooked through Hermione's head in a flash. She had to do _something_. Hermione knew she had to pretend to be angry, at the very least.

Her crooked wand was once more in hand. She had to impress and make the Goblins feel at least some amount of fear. Thus, she concentrated on her own morals, the ones that clashed with Bellatrix' ideas and believes. Knowing well that it made dark purple sparks fly from the wand's tip. It could burn through whatever flammable material it touched.

This act was usually a sign that a wandholder was losing their control over their magic, but in her case, Hermione just had to think of normal human rights - or her other morals - to cause this reaction. The Muggle-born had come to understand that this was something that was to stay, much like a personal vendetta.

This phenomenon of the sparks was something Hermione had first encountered during her practices in her days at Shell Cottage, and as they continued to appear she had gradually recognized the patterns. Thus, she knew exactly how to trigger the sparks and how to keep them at bay.

Semi-Bellatrix was about to growl abuse at the smaller creature who towered over her when she saw the same paleness appear over his irises. Again Harry had felt obliged to use Imperio and _again_ Hermione was incredibly grateful. Still, she growled abuse at the Head Goblin, since she had to keep her act up for all the others to see.

Harry made sure Bogrod, the Head Goblin, agreed to let them pass reluctantly, but he agreed nonetheless. He waved in the air, a sign for the small Goblin to lead them to the back of the long room, to the door that led to all the vaults in Gringotts, for as far as the trio was aware.

As they walked through the doors their current escort stood up straighter, as if he too was put under the Imperius Curse. But this time not by Harry.

"Stay hidden," hissed semi-Bellatrix before Harry could remove the Invisibility Cloak. Movement in the corner of her eye had caught Hermione's attention. At once she casted a silencing charm around them, in the hope that their fight would not attract any unwanted attention. During this she saw how a light blue spell shot their way, luckily, Ron parried it.

A man with a Death Eater mask came from the shadows, he had a haughty air about him. Ron attacked him at once with a yell and several jinxes. Hermione joined. Spells shot to and fro between them for a few dozen seconds, though the two of them had him down without much effort; all the while Harry concerned himself with the other Goblin who was supposedly their guide.

Both laid immobile beside one another, the Death Eater and the Goblin.

The suspicious thing was that the man had not demanded what semi-Bellatrix was thinking and that he had attacked her without asking any questions. As for the Goblin, he had not even batted his eyes at the sudden appearance of the Death Eater. Had they known her to be a fake all along?

Harry and Griphook appeared from underneath the Cloak. Whilst Ron inspected the man who laid immobilized on the ground. Meanwhile, Hermione turned around and looked at the room they had just vacated from between the open creak between the doors that were left open. She watched the Goblins work from her position in the shadows.

She bit her lower lip, what she was about to do was not an easy task, but she thought it unwise to let them remember. With careful wand movements, semi-Bellatrix began to hex the minds of all the occupants in the other room.

Her shoulders sagged slightly as she whipped the last mind of their recent memories. Obliviating a being from long distances truly was an intense act, for Obliviating is a precise process, which distance only makes it more difficult to achieve. She let go of her breath, positive that she had succeeded despite everything.

As she turned around to face her companions again, she halted midway, for her eyes fell on the Head Goblin who suddenly made a hand gesture. At once a lesser Goblin brought him the portable stairs that allowed him to sit on such a high stool. It was one made of polished wood and had adornments all over it. The craftwork was made to impress and it did.

The Head Goblin hobbled down the steps, once on the ground floor he croaked that he desired to be left alone and that he would return within an hour or two. All occupants nodded and did not object, this obviously happened more often.

She looked around in worry, why was the Head Goblin suddenly coming after them? It was Griphook who caught her eye, immediately he waved away her concern and said, while he pointed at Harry, "Bogrod is the only one besides Mistress Lestrange who can open the vault without much ado. And if we have to believe Potter's expression it is harder to use magic through the thick walls and our splendid security wards within them, so keep your questions for yourself."

The pride in his voice made Hermione raise one eyebrow. Griphook was still loyal, even after his forced departure from Gringotts, yet here he was escorting them to places they should have never been allowed to.

As she heard the door close behind Bogrod Hermione could finally let the act of being Bellatrix go. The sound was as a cue for her. Her posture changed to a more comfortable pose, no chin high in the air, nor haughtiness in her every glance and gesture; just Hermione.

Unbeknownst to herself, everyone felt relieved for the change. Her act of Bellatrix had been uncannily striking and it had unnerved Harry and Ron, even Griphook could not deny feeling more at ease.

Bogrod took to stand next to Griphook. And once Griphook started to walk to the cart it became apparent that Harry had ordered the Head Goblin to follow their escort like he was his shadow.

Hermione may be the most capable of the trio to cast the Obliviation spell, but when Ron pointed at the two rigid bodies on the ground with a questioning gaze she shook her head. It had taken a lot of energy to Obliviate a whole room of beings, these two were up to him. However, she did make sure that Ron did it right, she watched his wand movement and when she saw a wrong gesture she stepped closer and held his hand to move it accurately and on time with the incantations. She ignored Ron's reaction - a blush that spread to his ears - and let go of his hand the moment the spell was finished.

As she turned around she was met with the sight of green eyes, and without meaning to they started one of their silent conversations. Both let their unrest show. Harry looked around, tensed his shoulders and tilted his head ever so slightly when he looked back at Semi-Bellatrix. The feelings behind his body language were as clear as day to her. He was just as suspicious of the real Bellatrix being here, waiting somewhere in the shadows; in the hope that they would walk right into one of her many traps. They both knew something was terribly wrong.

Hermione rolled her shoulders, fidgeted from one foot to the other, then clenched and unclenched her hands, all the while she did not avert her eyes from Harry's. The corners of his mouth curled down, Harry understood that she meant to say that they had little choice in the matter if they should or should not go to the vault. They simply _had_ to.

"Now what?!" Ron snapped, looking from one to the other. He saw them doing _it_. Something that annoyed and hurt him; yet they still did it, even though they _knew_ that he felt like an outsider whenever he caught them in their silent communication. Why could they not at least _try_ to stop? Why did they have to act like that, now of all times?

Semi-Bellatrix closed her eyes for a moment and turned away from Ron to pretend to inspect the end of the tunnel where the trails disappeared into the darkness. Whilst, in reality, she took a moment to silence the annoyance she felt for him.

Because of her silence, Harry elaborated curtly, "There is something going on, we think this is a trap. We think Bellatrix is here, waiting for us. Somewhere..."

Griphook jumped at once to a conclusion, "Another reason why we should make haste, Mister Potter."

"Or it is just another reason why we should move as carefully as possible," Ron snarled.

"That would take too long, you dump wizard!" Griphook hissed the last words with a venomous voice. His form rigid and haughty.

Hermione turned back around to observe the two as they argued. She did not interfere, because this tension had literally been between these two from the start, it was about time some of the suppressed anger was given a voice. Otherwise, they could jump at each other's throat in the middle of a battle. Still, letting them insult each other now did not grant them any certainty that it would not happen again, not that they would not jump at each other's throats in the midst of battle after they blew off some steam. Because both, Griphook and Ron, were hotheads.

It was Harry who interrupted the argument. Neither was scolded, for he did not take either side, but he did make them stop. Which was the best he could do in their situation.

Hermione sat down beside Griphook, who waited readily beside the lever, for he would drive the cart around. Harry and Ron sat down behind them.

The silence that hung around the group was charged with a mixture of feelings. And it easily mingled with the dense atmosphere that was within the cave-like underground which they sped through, the torches on the cart the only light in the environment they passed. Hermione asked Griphook if he was alright with her extinguishing them, for they were a beacon for anyone that waited for their arrival. He nodded, though he watched her every move as she swished her wand around. Once they were enveloped in the darkness he croaked softly, "It doesn't matter, you could even blind me by stabbing my eyes out and I would still find my way in these tunnels.

"Be wary, after this curve of the rails we will ride through a waterfall," the Goblin said a second later, "you will feel what happens then."

And just as he had said, water hit them after the cart had lunged to the left, yet it did not make them wet. Instead, it took the illusion from Hermione's body. She felt how her flesh, bones and teeth were forced to their original state. It hurt as the cracks and holes in her teeth healed and she could not keep the hiss from escaping between her lips. She clamped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to keep the sound to herself.

When the pain subsided and her body was fully back to normal Hermione noticed how her clothes had not been forced out of their illusions. Did the water not respond to transfiguration? Because that would mean that Ron was still 'modified' as well.

However, nothing of the clothes fitted her anymore. The fabric sat lose around her shoulders and her whole body in general, the dress had even become slightly too long. With another swish of her wand, all garments turned back into the clothes she really wore. Fleur's clothes. She could not help but hug them closer to her skin, she wanted to catch a waft of the French woman's scent, in the hope that it would dampen the nervous uneasiness in her stomach. But it only added another source of unrest, for they had not parted on the best of terms and the mere reminder made her feel miserable.

Hermione was scared, she had felt the fear grow the moment they had walked inside Gringotts. They were about to encounter the woman who had almost destroyed her; had Bellatrix gotten her way she _would_ have had enough time to reduce Hermione's life to that of a potted plant, and that was only if Hermione had been _lucky,_ for it was likely that Bellatrix - if not all the other Death Eaters - knew of far worse possible uses for a _Mudblood_.

The Muggle-born shook her head in denial, gripped the fabric harder and bit on her lower lip. Bellatrix Lestrange was here. And Hermione was supposed to _defend_ the others and herself with Bellatrix' own wand. There were so many things that could go terribly wrong. This was precisely the situation she had never wanted to be in, the situation Harry had said he would never let her be in. But here they were, about to face the woman that had traumatized her and had left her enough physical scars to prove it.

_Panic,_ she realized, _I am letting panic overrule my rationality._ This realization hit Hermione hard. She blinked several times, even though it did not make a difference in the darkness that surrounded them. She forced her fingers to unclench from Fleur's sweater and let her mind focus on taking deep breaths.

The rattle of the cart on the rails reached through the cave and echoed off the walls. Would Bellatrix know it to be them? Would she start shooting curses while they still rode so high above the ground? It was not as if their death would mean anything to her. Only Harry's death meant something, he could not die, because Voldemort wanted him alive. Everyone knew this, it was plastered in the whole godforsaken city. This, strangely, was what reassured Hermione that it was unlikely that they would be shot from the rails. This knowledge did not change anything about the particular situation and the emotions it brought forth, though.

"Harry..." she whispered and turned to where she knew he sat, "I..."

"I know," he said, his voice just as soft. Silence. Then suddenly she felt a searching hand touch her arm and once he had found her he settled his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it softly. "Please be careful, stay behind me, don't be too offensive, the wand can make your spells stray. Try to be our defence for as best you can."

"Wandless," was the only word Hermione muttered in response. It may be the safest course for them.

"Maybe, but you - " Harry whispered but he was cut short.

"We're close to the dock, Mister Potter," croaked Griphook.

"Right, draw your wands, I suspect an instant attack. The noise of our cart is almost deafening in this part of the cave." Harry was silent then he continued, "Griphook, Bogrod will be following you every step you take, until I give him another command, please keep him safe. It would be best to stay behind us and in the shadows."

"I am ready," Ron said determinedly. His voice was barely soft enough to be called a whisper. The sound of it was like he promised to protect, that he wanted to be trusted with that responsibility. But would he ever be able to? Truly able? These thoughts were abandoned the moment they crossed her mind. There was no need to scrutinize Ron, at least not here when they were in such a dubious setting.

Hermione merely squeezed Harry's hand before she took to stand in a defensive duelling position. Bellatrix' wand was in her left hand so that she could use her right hand for wandless magic.

This was going to be a horrid battle, for this was lethal. Bellatrix _is_ lethal.

The hairs on her neck stood upright, but she did not let the panic control her anymore. She had to keep a clear mind. In keeping herself vigilant, she listened to anything out of the ordinary, tried to see anything beyond the darkness. But there was nothing.

The cart came to a shuddering halt at the dock and around them, torches sprang to life. Flames burned as if they had never been extinguished. All the shadows that were created by this seemed to taunt them. For they dared to move in suspicious ways, trying to mislead them. Once Ron shot a jinx at one of the dark abysses. Hermione did not look if he blushed in embarrassment when nothing happened, it would only make her vulnerable to an attack.

The group ventured slowly through the carved-out corridors, the wandholders walked in a triangle - aware that they should not believe that Bellatrix would not attack them from behind, with the Goblins in the middle of it, for they were the weakest. One could compare the group to a herd of Bison, who protected the weakest - their calves, the sick and old pack members - by standing around them in a circle, to form an impenetrable wall against the predator.

Of course, they were with far too little to be impenetrable against their current threat. The Death Eater being overqualified in battle. And here they were, with their flaws in their duelling, too young to be any real threat against the woman. But at least they were together.

The tingle over her skin was the only warning she got, she exclaimed for them to stop, but it was already too late when she felt it. What had triggered it was impossible to know, maybe they had stepped on the wrong patch of ground or maybe they had breathed in the wrong direction, either way, an explosion was the result, from right underneath them.

Hermione tried to conjure a shield around them but her wandless magic was too slow. The explosion swallowed them and catapulted them away with a flash of red.

Everything seemed to be in slow motion. Hermione collided with a wall or ceiling, she could not see in the current chaos, and gravity pulled her back to the ground. She was like a ragdoll thrown about the room. Her body ached and shudders ran through her spine from the impact. She had hit her head hard and pain filled her skull. The scent of singed hair and fire penetrated the dense air that surrounded her. Black spots danced before her eyes, she tried to blink them away whilst she laid motionlessly on the floor.

Time was still slowed down, her surroundings wobbled and the shadows on the walls acted out of proportion. It did not make any sense to her.

Her mind processed all that had happened while she still lay on the ground. At the same time, she saw the conjuration of a green spell and in slow motion, it spiralled directly at her. Despite everything Hermione was able to shield herself from the curse. Though she could not lift her hand, she could not even lift her finger to do so. Wandless and non-verball, Hermione would thank Merlin for her control over her own magical defences once she was not as lucid and in the middle of this fucked up situation.

Slowly senses and thoughts began to make more sense. The adrenaline rush penetrated the fuzz the pain created in her mind. She blinked as she saw more colours fly through the air, though no longer were they directed at her.

Profiles of people became clearer and their names, reality and sounds returned to her at once. A moment later she noticed that Harry had positioned himself directly before her. That he had and still defended her against all magic that had otherwise been her dead.

Without a second to waist, the Muggle-born started to stir her limbs, she had to stand up and help fight against Bellatrix, Harry could not win this battle on his own.

Moving did not help the pain in her head, but at the moment nothing in her body felt pleasant. There was not anything else she could do than to push herself to her limits and just get going.

As Hermione stood gingerly, yet defensively, she glanced at Harry, he looked a little hustled from the explosion, for a bit of dirt had gotten on his robes and his glasses sat askew on the bridge of his nose, but nothing more. He had likely been able to conjure a shield fast enough to protect himself from the blast of the explosion. The Goblins did not look like they had gotten a single scratch on them either. Ron, on the other hand, looked dishevelled, to say the least, yet his jaw was set in determination as he shot the best spells and jinxes he could manage, which were some nastily good ones, towards Bellatrix.

Despite this, the Death Eater seemed to dance between all the colours. Was it truly this easy for her?

_No,_ Hermione reminded herself as she steadied herself and got a grip on her balance and magic, _if this was truly easy for her she would have defeated us already._ This idea gave her hope and hope gave her strength; her energy was renewed, somewhat.

She shot her own wandless, offensive magic, the casting was slower than it would have been with the use of her wand but Hermione truly did not dare use it this near Bellatrix Lestrange. Besides the obvious things that could go wrong, she truly did not want to see and experience Bellatrix' reaction upon seeing her treasured possession in the hand of a Mudblood.

_And still, I carry it in my left hand, uselessly. As a light source to a moth._

The Muggle-born's spells scattered around Bellatrix' feet, just like she had wanted, for they were all Bomborda's. It made the stones on the ground explode which created a distraction. Though the sole reason why Hermione had done this was to startle the Death Eater.

Bellatrix did not even flinch, the only response Hermione got for her magic was a snarl and a glance filled with anger. Hermione was barely on time to create a shield big enough to defend their whole group against the force field the Death Eater shot in their direction. The wind rushed past them, howls filled the corridors of the cavern as the gust of wind travelled around and past them, to disappear into the adjoined corridors. Still, the Muggle-born had noticed, to her shock and dismay, how a bit of harmless gravel had come through her shield; Bellatrix is powerful. It was amazing what the Death Eater could do with magic. Hermione berated herself inwardly for the admiration she felt, still the feelings stayed.

Harry and Ron renewed their attack the moment Hermione's shield went down. Colours shot through the air, Bellatrix parried them all and shot her own, far more dangerous, magic in response. Hermione had become their main defence and did her best not to let a single spell come through. She deflected, shielded and shot her own spells to collide with as much of Bellatrix' magic and curses as she could.

She was attuned to both Harry and Ron, knew them too well and could, therefore, predict whatever step they would likely do next. The only ones that were harder to protect were the Goblins, but Griphook had made sure that they stayed in the shadows so far. Still, Hermione glanced at them every few seconds, too afraid that Bellatrix had something horrifying in mind. Like hexing the boulder the Goblins hid behind.

Their battle had been mostly in silence; incantations, grunts and shouts being the only noise from the duellers. No insults were traded. As she realized this, Hermione thought that maybe one of the simplest ways to win could be their salvation in this duel; distraction, more precisely, taunting and infuriating distraction. Everybody knew Purebloods to be proud people, their whole social circles were built on pride, and it was rumoured, or rather a well-known fact, that Bellatrix was among the proudest, together with Lucius and other 'most loyal Death Eaters'.

Hermione tried to think of other tactics they may win with. Yet nothing that came to mind would succeed, there were too many reasons why the ideas could not work. She sighed, she was not one to insult others, but this would have to be an exception.

The first verbal prod left her lips easily, "You can't seem to win from a group made up of Blood traitors and a _Mudblood_ , maybe you are getting too old for this, Lestrange?"

"You wait till I have you in my hands, filthy creature!" Bellatrix shouted, with a dangerous glint ignited in her eyes, "I will scalp you, flay you alive, make you scream - " The insults and threats were accompanied with powerful jinxes and hexes. The woman snarled the words, though not all could be heard over the clamour of their battle.

Harry shot a few jinxes in short succession, to literally show that Bellatrix first needed to defeat him to get to Hermione. After this, the Muggle-born showed her most infuriating and mocking grin. The timing seemed perfect, for those black eyes began to blaze with anger. It was not fury yet, but it would not take much more. Hermione was surprised at how easy it was to rile this woman up.

The Death Eater shot curses their way, shortly followed by a hand gesture Hermione was unfamiliar with, though her instinct told her this was bad. It made the flames of the torches grow and become uncontrollable. The Muggle-born shouted the defensive spell in response, she deliberately used the tone of her voice to serve as a warning to the group, for she had no time to otherwise warn them. First and foremost came their safety.

Hermione forced her Protego Duo to enclose around them like a bubble and held her hands up to keep the magic from disappearing. The conjuration was all within a second, the action actually hurt her and made the black spots reappear before her eyes for a moment. Hermione demanded too much from her body, her magical energy, yet she could not stop now. They would die otherwise.

As the black spots slowly disappeared from her eyesight, Hermione turned her attention to the flames that licked at her magical shield from the outside. The colours were terrifying all on their own, but worse was the heat, for it was smothering them. It was as if they had become minus magnets and the flames their magnificent others, the plus magnets. The oxygen was quickly taken from the air, Hermione could keep them from being burnt but not from being suffocated. Not at the same time anyway.

The Muggle-born braced herself and strengthened her shield as she felt more magic crash against it. Bellatrix' cackle pierced through the air and through the roaring of all the flames. It reminded Hermione of a night of humiliation and helplessness, shudders ran through her spine mercilessly.

She had to reposition. Hermione stood wider, her feet a step further apart, her hands and arms wide and stuck out above her head. It was to give her magic an easier way to flow around her, a technique Minerva had taught her on one of the many evenings she had been with her mentor for extra curriculum.

From between clenched jaws, Hermione hissed, keeping the shield from breaking apart under the constant attack was becoming harder with each passing second. She had a frown of concentration on her face while her eyes scanned the bubble for any weaknesses.

From the corners of her eyes, she saw the Goblins. Despite their hardy personalities, she could see the fear in their postures, the flames were easily mirrored in their beady black eyes. Griphook caught her eyes and she motioned for him to come and stand behind her with a tilt of her head. Hesitation was visible, yet he did as she asked and came with Bogrod from the shadows to stand and hide behind the Muggle-born.

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron rushed to extinguish all the flames without disrupting the shield with their own magic. They had to make their magic wave together with Hermione's and separate without tearing the cadence apart as it went through her shield. It was an incredibly difficult task, to say the least. Hermione's whimpers did not help, she barely refrained herself to plead for them to speed things up. Not that they needed her to, for it was obvious to anybody, her eyes conveyed the struggle she was in, that the pain she was in grew.

"Harry!" Hermione begged as more green curses hit her blue defence, it hurt to redirect such hateful magic. The energy it costed her to keep her shields up was taking its toll on her. Sweat dripped from her hairline down her face. A tremble had permanently manifested in her fingers, her hands cramped.

"Almost, love, keep going, you can do this!" Harry's desperation cracked his voice, he pushed himself to work even faster. When the last flame was extinguished he barked, "NOW!" Hermione let her magic go with a gasp and Harry was the one to shield them at once. Their communication and teamwork were seamless, not a single spell got through their defences.

She took deep breaths as she leaned with her hands on her knees, mindful that she still stood before the Goblins. She had asked them to come from the shadows because she had been suspicious of Bellatrix using the environment against them, she would not abandon them now.

"Hermione, think that you can protect yourself for the moment?" Harry asked, his voice strained because of the force of Bellatrix' attack.

She took one last deep breath and spoke with determination in her voice as she straightened herself and swept sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, "I can protect us all, you two focus on getting her down." This was a crazy notion after all the energy and magic she had just conjured, she knew, but what else was she to do?

"Ron, are you ready?" Harry yelled.

"Yeah," he barked out as he shot more hexes, glanced at Hermione with concern in his eyes and then steeled himself once more. "Let's get this over with," he barked with false bravado, though it earned another growl from the Death Eater.

When Harry's shield went down a wave of jinxes were shot in all directions from both sides. Hermione was able to disable most, but she could not deny that there were more spells that evaded her shields.

A hiss from her left caught her attention, but she could not take her eyes from Bellatrix, who shot an onslaught of curses at them. As Hermione redirected a few and made others collide with a Protego, she whispered Harry's name inquisitively, she wanted to be sure he was alright.

"Nothing, not hit by anything. It's _Him_. Angry," Harry huffed out between breaths as he duelled with the Death Eater, "He is becoming very angry. Just now realizing - " he was barely able to dodge a green jet, " - that things are not going as He had planned."

Another hiss, this one barely audible to Hermione, yet her ears were attuned to the sound. She could not help but hear. For it was feminine... From a woman that never showed any emotion other than anger and hatred. Yet Bellatrix' hiss was one of surprise. Whatever had the woman make such a noise? Or had Hermione imagined it? For nothing in the Death Eater's facial features conveyed any feelings of shock.

She took a deep breath to prepare herself, her eyes sought those dark brown ones, but they would not look at her. Bellatrix was too busy with the battle, trying - and succeeding - to parry, attack and defend all at once. Was Bellatrix deliberately not looking at her? Hermione's grip tightened on her wand and that gave her the most foolish idea she had during this duel. Then again, had she not carried it in her hand for this very purpose from the start? Hermione felt as if she was about to dive into ice-cold water. "Haven't you noticed something, Lestrange?"

"Indeed I have: why the fuck have not you died already, Mudblood? Are you truly such a miserable dueller that all you do are the defences?"

"You have no idea what you are talking about, bitch!" Ron yelled and shot several spells.

Bellatrix' comment hurt Hermione's pride, though she did not rise to the bait. "You are truly obnoxious, at least there is one thing Skeeter got right," Hermione said between casting Protegos, though not loud enough for Bellatrix to be able to hear. But Harry and Ron did and it made the first chuckle and the latter grin despite their current situation.

That was something Bellatrix could hear and see, and it was easily deduced that Hermione was the cause of this. Bellatrix' eyes were sharp and hateful as they landed upon her. It brought forth the feeling of rebellion in the Muggle-born, she did not waver in returning the glare.

Another hiss from Harry and Hermione only needed one word to know for sure, "Again?"

"Again," Harry repeated, one hand on his forehead. Another vision of Voldemort.

A tremble in Bellatrix' hand, her eyes ever so slightly bigger. Hermione saw it happen and knew that the Death Eaters must be summoned at the moment. Yet the battle continued, she bit her lip and could not help but feel hope for this to end soon.

"I believe he is summoning the Death Eaters," Harry said to no one in particular as he shot jinxes towards their opponent.

"Yet this blasted witch won't leave," Griphook spoke from behind one of Hermione's legs and glared daggers at Bellatrix. Somewhere during the battle, he had placed his hands on the aforementioned leg, to be a sort of support to her. It was a gesture that had heartened her, gave her the feeling that they were an actual team, even with all their differences.

Hermione yelled, "You are truly blind, Lestrange, maybe you should think about retirement."

"What the fuck are you talking about?! You filthy Mudwhore! Stupid, helpless, useless, uggl- " the insults halted as those eyes became as big as saucers, Bellatrix' eyes had, finally, landed upon the object in Hermione's left hand.

Despite the shock, Bellatrix was able to function, though she had her eyes trained on the wooden object. She avoided whatever came her way with simply sidestepping or conjuring whatever kind of shield was needed. Though Hermione noted that not a single curse, or any other offensive spell for that matter, came from the Death Eater anymore.

With her eyes trained on the wooden object Bellatrix opened her mouth, the shrill sound of her voice nailed Hermione on the spot she stood. She had never before heard someone make a demand with such an angry desire in it.

"Give me back what is mine!"

"Not a chance!" Ron yelled, his fury towards this woman showing in his voice. He was truly livid.

Hermione gripped the wood tighter, but made sure her face stayed impassive; which was not difficult, for she was of the opinion that this had become far too emotionally complicated in the middle of battle. It was far easier for her right now to shut down her own emotions and just act with her rational mind. Later there would be time to try and understand. If she would make it out alive... With the growing fury in Bellatrix' eyes that was something to doubt.

The Death Eater took a step towards them and demanded once more that the wand was to be handed over to her at once. It even seemed that the woman believed they would.

"Purebloods," Hermione said exaggerated.

Somehow, somewhere during this argument, the spells to and fro had stopped. Harry and Ron stood ready to attack any moment, Hermione was ready to defend and Bellatrix just looked torn. Something that indicated that there was more going on than met the eye. Hermione had never before envied Harry for his connection with Voldemort; if only she could better understand the situation. Yet at the same time, she told herself that she was a sick person to envy such a horrid 'connection'.

It was just that her desire to know and understand what was going on in the dark witch seemed fathomless.

Shouts and insults were traded between Harry and Ron and Bellatrix. Hermione listened to them all but no longer commented, not even when they were directed at her. She just stared right back into Bellatrix' eyes, with a face void of emotion. And maybe this was what infuriated the Death Eater the most, for after the umpteenth insult about her heritage Bellatrix accompanied her words with green and dark blue curses. A snarl on her lips, mane dishevelled and eyes on fire with rage.

All were deflected, for the trio defended as one.

As Harry tried to cast another spell, for he had enough of this weird argument, something strange happened. Both he and Bellatrix gasped as one. Bellatrix balled her hands, jaw set and her eyes wild. Meanwhile, Harry seemed to have completely forgotten about the jinx he had been about to shoot, instead he gripped his head. Hermione had to redirect his spell away from Harry and made it crash into the ground between Bellatrix and them to ensure his safety.

Unfortunately, Hermione's moment of strayed focus created a hole in their defence and the Death Eater took the opportunity at once. A storm of common jinxes was directed at Hermione, the Goblins and at Ron.

The Muggle-born was on time to defend the Goblins and herself, thanks to Griphook's hold on her leg, for his grip tightened painfully as a warning. Ron, not having to defend others, could evade the magic with a sidewards jump.

Harry hissed in pain again, his voice strangled. He stumbled towards Ron, who held him upright and whilst he kept eyes on Bellatrix. With one hand he supported Harry and with the other, he was ready to defend.

Any noise Harry made was drowned out by a sound that would haunt Hermione in her wakeful hours.

Bellatrix howled in pain, seemingly without a cause, at least none they could see. However, one did not need a mental connection to have an inkling. The Death Eater screamed her denial, that she could not go now, that she was too close to victory, that _He_ could not do this to her, that this had all been for _His_ cause.

The inner conflict that followed caused tears to stream over gaunt cheeks. Bellatrix screamed as if in pure agony, dark brown eyes did not seem to focus on anything as her hands went into her own mane where they tugged at the roots of her hair.

The hollow sound made shivers crash through Hermione and she felt ill, yet she could not avert her eyes. She needed to understand and therefore did not want to look away.

Bellatrix repeated words without a chronical order, then, all of a sudden, her eyes focused again. From the corner of her eyes Hermione saw Ron readying himself to shoot a spell, she raised her free hand to keep him from doing anything.

Dark brown eyes gave a forlorn and longing glance at the wood in Hermione's left hand before the Death Eater disappeared in a puff of black smoke and a bang that shook the walls. Common knowledge was that Apparition and Disapparition were not meant to be possible in the bowls of Gringotts. Yet, obviously, Bellatrix had found a way around the wards. At least for the latter.

_Or_ , Hermione thought, _it has something to do with the dark mark._ Unfortunately, it was unlikely that she would ever come to know the truth.

Silence, in which their heavy breathing was all that filled the air.

Hermione blinked and looked around the corridor carefully, suspicious of all the shadows. There were holes of varying sizes in the ground and walls, rubble covered the floor and scorch marks were all over the ceiling and other surfaces in general, except for where their bubble had been.

_We have survived,_ the thought made her inhale deeply, _no one has died. No one is severely hurt._

"Why did you wanted me to stop, Hermione? That bloody bitch could have been lying unconsciously on the ground now," Ron looked angry, but he looked tired too. And as Hermione eyed him she saw that he had a small head wound and that he tried to avoid leaning on his left foot. Maybe the last of Bellatrix' jinxes had done more damage than Hermione had realized, or they could be injuries from the explosion.

"Don't underestimate Lestrange, Ron," she said matter of fact and thought, _your skill is non-existent compared to hers._

"Is you had shot anything she would only have had more reason to stay, at least now she is gone," said Griphook gruffly as he started to move around a bit, though he stayed close to them. Meanwhile, Harry could stand on his own legs again, though he had his hand still pressed against his forehead, a grimace on his features.

Slowly they started to move about, with Griphook and Bogrod at the front. The trio followed them cautiously.

"Stop walking like fools!" Griphook's voice held annoyance, "This is ridiculous. There are not any more of those traps. Mistress Lestrange would never be able to set them. Our - " He cut himself short, his lips tightly shut. His eyes filled with stern disdain, he would not allow himself to continue, he would not disgrace his code of honour.

The trio looked at each other, Harry was the one who nodded and said, "If you are sure."

They walked on, still cautiously, but without the same feverous glances at everything.

Yet as they went further into the cave Hermione felt the hairs on her neck stand on end and yelled for everybody to stop. Everyone halted at once, they did not dare to move a finger.

This time she had Bellatrix' wand in her right hand and flicked it through the air, a white fog came from the tip of the wand and became gradually invisible. Which, at the same time, enabled for a shimmering web to slowly appear, it hung at the ceiling. The creation was a complicated construction of strings. Hermione was mesmerized by it and would have spent hours, if not days, to observe the formula. To find the answers to the riddle that had revealed itself before her. What had Bellatrix used to create this masterpiece?

Ron had a smug sneer on his face as he looked down upon the Goblin, "No more traps, you said?"

"Shut it, Ron," Harry mumbled as he looked around, a frown on his face.

Griphook glared murderously at Ron but said nothing.

Hermione had stars in her eyes, unbeknownst to herself she had a smile on her face. She reached outwards. As if she wanted to actually touch one of the strings. Harry couched, his eyes tentative and worried, "Hermione, I take it that you can dismantle this... whatever it is?"

She looked at him in silence for a moment, then she nodded. Reluctance was evident in her eyes. She could not help but want to dissect the trap and take a closer look at the combination of curses and charms and how they were interwoven.

"Can you protect us while I get to work, just to be sure?"

Harry nodded and put up a strong shield, another bubble. As Hermione let her hands hover in the air, she grabbed at the air, pulled a bit, let go and grabbed some of the other strings. Some would glow, others would cause pain, but as long as Hermione kept her mind focussed she could discharge most of the magic.

The whole ordeal took her longer than her companions had expected, but they had no clue what this was supposed to be in the first place. Thus, they kept quiet and watched her work.

Another hiss from Harry interrupted the silence, but it was the words he spoke thereafter that made Hermione speed up her work, "He knows, Lestrange has told him..."

It was with a slight regret that she dismantled the trap. The web of enchantments dissolved in dust and they resumed their walk at once. No time to linger, who knew what would get to them if they stayed here much longer?

Griphook took the lead again, he had grown annoyed, wanted to be out of here.

Before he led them around a corner he turned and motioned to the clankers on his (for he had taken the clanker of the lesser Goblin), Ron and Hermione's belts. "We need them now, shake them hard. Follow my example. Now hurry, if Mister Potter is right we don't want to be here in another half hour."

In one hand she held her wand, in the other the clanker. As she followed her heart skipped a beat, because before them towered a giant dragon. Hermione was astounded. She just stood there, too enraptured to continue walking.

Over the years she had taken to sit down on several, very rare occasions with Charlie, who was not often present at Weasley family gatherings or birthdays, to talk about dragons and all that he had experienced thus far in Romania. And he had always been glad to tell all kinds of tales or give information about all the different species which were still alive.

But this creature did not look anything like the majestic Ukrainian Ironbellies she had seen sketches, drawings and even a few moving photos of. The Ukrainian dragons normally had black scales with silver highlights on the belly and other smaller silver-white markings scattered over their whole body.

This poor creature did not even come close to the images. It was of a matted grey colour, with only a handful of blackish scales here and there. Not to start about the scars that littered its body, head and wings; as if it had been whipped by a white-hot iron cord its whole life. From its neck hung metal chains - dirty and heavy looking - with seemingly no real purpose other than to make it impossible for the dragon to look up or stretch out its neck to its full length. Its eyes had a milky gleam over the irises creating the impression that it was blind or close to it.

All these signs were proof of the horrible life it had lived thus far. In a cave that was not its natural habitat, without the needed nutrients in its diet and the abuse it had endured. Hermione became enraged, to say the least, her sympathies for the Goblins and the discrimination they received in the wizarding world was momentarily completely forgotten.

She clenched her jaws together to keep from demanding retribution on the Ironbelly's account. Though it did not keep her from creating a whole new escape plan.

An awful noise pierced through the damp air and made not only Hermione startle, to her horror she saw the creature curl up, whilst trying to sprint away from the people creating the sounds. It was only then that Hermione saw the shackles around the creature's ankles. For the dragon could not even move ten metres away.

It was not a surprise to her that it was the clankers that made the noise, the effect it had on the dragon made her dislike the items greatly. She decided to not participate in it, instead of using the device herself she jogged to catch up with the group.

"You don't approve of our methods, Miss Granger," it was not voiced as a question, yet Griphook looked up, expecting an answer.

"I haven't said anything."

"You don't have to," he sneered slightly, "when you aren't acting, your thoughts are easily read in your features."

She did not comment on that, she did not want to have this conversation.

They arrived before the Lestrange's vault without any other incidents, though Griphook grew more agitated with each passing minute and this was obvious to anyone. It made the tension in the air double.

As Bogrod was made to open the door they all watched without making a single sound, Hermione did not even dare take a breath.

The torches in the vault itself did not lit up until they stepped inside.

What greeted them behind the grant doors was wealth; an immense, unhealthy amount of gold, the most exotic magical hides and stuffed creatures Hermione had ever seen. On the walls hung shelves littered with potions and books, she had no doubt that some were centuries old. It did not affect the Muggle-born much, she generally did not envy the rich - no, her envy came for those with knowledge, experience, and natural skill - but she could not help the desire to want to browse through the books, to see what crude dark magical rituals would be described. She forced her eyes from the shelves and took part in the conversation that was currently going on.

She listened to Harry and Griphook argue about how to proceed from here. Apparently, there were certain curses active in this vault. Her eyes wandered over everyone in the group.

Harry looked as tired as she felt. His hair was a mess, dirt and sweat had mingled and dried upon his skin, his glasses were still slightly askew and his clothes were torn and scorched at places. Luckily, he had only a few visible injuries, none which made her worry.

Ron's health did worry her, for Bellatrix jinx - or the explosion - had caused him to limp. Though determination showed in his whole posture, he would rather die than give in to the pain. However, she saw more in his eyes than mere determination. And it was something that made her worry. For she saw greet as Ron looked at all the gold. He had been poor his whole life, using and wearing second-hand stuff all his life. But she had not realized it had bothered him this much, she had always been under the impression that the Weasley's made a good enough living - Molly being ever the successful negotiator and businesswoman regarding everything that had to be bought.

She averted her eyes, she no longer wanted to see this side of Ron. The Goblins were her next culprits. One stood stoic and showed no sign to hear anything or be aware of anything that happened around him, the other made curt gestures whilst he spewed heated words to Harry.

Hermione opted to interrupt at last, "Griphook, what about Bogrod, he is the Head Goblin, should not he be allowed to -"

"It is not as simple as you like to think, Granger," he snapped, yet a thoughtful frown creased his forehead. His beady eyes travelled to the other Goblin and stayed there for a while. Then his stern gaze pierced Hermione's, "Tell me, is there a spell that can keep someone in the air? And what about the magic that can contain an object to a place and make it impossible for it to grow, or, let's say, multiply?"

"Yes, yes and maybe. The latter depends on what it is exactly and since we are in a vault full of objects, small and big, I have the feeling that you would want most to be affected by the spell, to keep them all from multiplying? But I can tell you already, that is too big a feat for me to accomplish, I would need a hand, an experienced one. And no, Harry and Ron don't even know the incantation, since it's not taught in our school's curriculum. The only reason I know it is because I had the luxury to have had extra training in certain subjects. Charms being one of them." As she said this her mind raced to think of other possibilities, thus she continued without taking a breath, "However, it wouldn't be impossible for me to conjure a simple barrier between objects, it may be invisible but I believe that you would feel it when you passed through it. Sort of like a warning?"

She got a nod from Griphook and in the silence that followed he observed the pile of gold.

Suddenly Harry clutched his head with his hands, a surprised shout accompanied it. Hermione reached out for him and let her cool hand nestle comfortingly in his neck. Her thumb caressed his skin. Slowly she felt the tension in the muscles underneath her hand lessen.

He let a heavy sigh escape him as his eyes met hers. Neither one smiled, they would just be fake. Instead, they looked back at the others and their environment simultaneously. Somewhere in this trophy room, their desired object was supposed to be. The heirloom of Madam Hufflepuff.

"Why can't it just be simple for once," Ron grumbled as his eyes searched through the sea of objects, "Just a simple Accio would be great right now."

"Don't even bother," Griphook snapped, "we know how to make things impossible."

"Yeah, impossible like before, with Bellatrix' second trap, right?" Ron argued.

"Could you two stop this," Harry said exaggerated, "this is _not_ the time."

"Harry," Hermione felt panic rise at the new thought that had appeared in her mind. He heard it in her voice and had his alert eyes on her at once. "Harry, what if she has transfigured or charmed the cup?" She had not thought of this before, it was such a simple feat that it had not occurred to her at all. Now the idea held her in an icy grip.

He put his hand on her arm, "Hermione, look at me. Let's not start with doom-thinking, right now we have to find it, she may have transfigured the object, but we will feel the energy radiating from it either way. I bet no Confusion Charm can withhold such a powerful object, not when part of _His_ soul is put into it." He rubbed her arm softly, he tried to look encouraging, but all Hermione could see was his frown and the tiredness in his features.

"Right," Harry took the lead again, "Enough searching from this point of the room, we need someone in the air." His eyes landed on the Goblins.

A few minutes later Griphook and Ron were in the air giving instructions to Hermione and Harry which way they should be directed. And it was not long before Ron gave a triumphant yell, he instructed Hermione with hope once more evident in his voice.

Meanwhile, Griphook was brought back to the ground, but the Goblin was still above the last metre of gold when Harry yelled in pain and gripped his head. This broke his concentration on the spell and to Hermione's horror, she saw Griphook land in the mountain of galleons.

Galleons multiplied and the Goblin screamed in pain, yet Hermione could not do anything for she had to keep Ron in the air. Which costed all her willpower at this moment.

An outraged shriek came from behind. Bogrod had obviously freed himself from his mental confinement. Yet, before he could do anything Harry had his wand in hand and produced Imperio anew. Then he rushed to the rescue, he lifted Griphook from the pile, who was now covered in blisters; his face was contorted in anger and pain.

Harry gave his sincere apologies as Griphook landed on the safe ground and explained himself, "He has found out that we have got knowledge of his Horcruxes and is about to look them all up..." a moment of hesitation, then he admitted, "He is furious."

At these words, they all felt the doom for what was to come, intensify in the air.

Hermione could not respond, for she had to rush Ron through the air, coins kept multiplying and she truly did not want more victims of blisters.

"Harry, my shoulder bag. A burn salve should be somewhere in there." It was one of the supplements Fleur had insisted she should take with her. Hermione had raised an eyebrow as Fleur had put it in the bag, she had not thought it likely for any of them to get burned. Now she was very grateful to Fleur's foresight. Because as Ron was finally on the ground himself, she turned to see that the worst blisters on Griphook's face and hands had been tended to. At some places, it had been applied too thickly, but that would not have any negative effects. Right now she wanted to get out of this vault before the still multiplying galleons would swallow them whole.

And everyone else had the same idea, before long the five of them stood outside the Lestrange vault. From there on Harry wanted to rush to the next step of their current mission: the escape. He looked at the cup in Ron's hand and patted him on the shoulder, thankful that they had found it despite all odds.

Hermione helped Griphook with the salve, even though the Goblin snarled at her and tried to swat her hands away. After half a minute of persistent stubbornness on her part he gave up with a horribly long and exaggerated sigh, "Isn't it humiliating enough already, Granger, that the Goblin was the only one to come to harm in one of the vaults he has protected most of his life?"

She gave a nonsensical hum, relieved that she could finally tend to his wounds, it made her feel less guilty, even though she had done nothing wrong. As a response she said sincerely, "I just want to help."

Someone opened her bag and put something in it. It became significantly heavier, which should not be possible with her Weightless Charm. It had to be the Cup of Hufflepuff. Griphook eyed the person behind Hermione and said in a harsh tone, "Mister Potter, the Sword is mine."

Harry opened her bag again and said without any ill will, "Yes, here you go."

If the Goblin was surprised he did not show it as the weapon was carefully handed to him, during which Harry urged for them to make sure they had everything so they could leave here as soon as possible. For he still felt Voldemort's rage and flinched every so often.

Meanwhile, Hermione closed the pot of the salve as she listened to Harry. When he was done she spoke up with a casual tone, "I want to escape with the Ukrainian Ironbelly, it is wrong to leave it here."

Griphook looked at her with a sharp turn of his head, the shock was visible in his eye and his voice was full of disdain, "No, it belongs here, we have trained it for decennia!"

At the same time, Ron's eyes bulged at the proposal, "Are you bonkers? We will be fried before we could take a single step towards the beast!"

She turned towards him, her face portrayed that she would fight for this cause to her death. "Don't speak of it so harshly! Dragons are intelligent creatures and even if they weren't you shouldn't - " then she was interrupted.

"Guys there is no time to argue, we have to get out of here!" Harry actually shouted from all his frustration, a second later he clutched his head and landed on his knees. "Arg!"

Hermione forgot her anger at once and reached out to her friend.

Then multiple things happened all at once. A shrill, panicked scream came from behind the two, it was Griphook. A thundering roar erupted ahead and made the ground and walls shake, soon followed by a noise that sounded suspiciously like a blazing fire, the red glow that accompanied it affirmed it. Screams were the response. And shouted incantations were followed by another thundering roar.

Harry turned away from it all, for a moment Hermione thought he would dash back into the vault, but then she saw the last slivers of movement that conjured the Imperius Curse. That was when her eyes fell on the bloodshed that had happened behind them.

Both Griphook and Bogrod were bleeding vigorously. The latter being stabbed in the gut with the Sword of Gryffindor, Griphook's hand still on its haft as he staggered backwards, whilst he had his other hand pressed against his neck. From underneath streamed blood, his clothes were already drenched.

The sword came loose with a sickening sound. Bogrod's eyes bulged at the pain, even with the mist that covered them. A gasp came from him, his eyes and head twitched ever so slightly. His clothes near the wound slowly reddened. Yet he kept standing, he was like a statue covered in red paint.

The unfamiliar voices and the ground shaking roars merged into the background as Hermione lunged forward and started to heal Griphook at once. She was just in time to catch the Goblin as he fell to the ground. Who did not try to stop her this time. His face was drowned of colour, his eyes unfocused.

Whilst the Muggle-born did her best at healing, Harry and Ron started for the battle that came consistently closer to them. _We have been cornered in no time at all,_ Hermione thought helplessly as she pressed on the wound in Griphook's neck. Somehow it would not close, the flesh did not respond to her spells, much like her own wound on her arm. _Could it be?_ Her eyes widened in fear, they searched in the shadows around Bogrod, in the hope to see the fallen weapon. She found nothing.

The Goblin in her arms tried to mutter something, blood gurgled in his trachea. The sound made her stop breathing. Whatever she tried, nothing worked. His blood was all over her hands and coloured her clothes red wherever it landed.

With one hand outstretched inside her bag, she summoned a salve - her last resort - with the other she supported the Goblin, who all but lay in her lap. Fleur had made her promise to only use this salve when the word on her arm would become unbearable. This was something she was willing to break a promise for.

Griphook's grip on her sweater loosened, his lips moved, eyes unblinking and unseeing, blood everywhere.

"No, no, Griphook," she whispered fiercely, desperate "don't give up. Stay here!"

Even with the clamour of a battle around them, Hermione instantly knew when - despite the salve she anointed to his wound - Griphook exhaled his last breath. The tension in his muscles gradually lessened. His lungs no longer struggled for the intake of oxygen.

The worst thing was that Hermione had to watch how the wound in Griphook's neck finally started to heal; too late, if only she had been faster to -

There was no time for self-punishment.

Hermione shook her head forlornly, muttered her sincerest apology and carefully laid Griphook down on the ground. She stood and walked before the other still standing and Imperiussed Goblin. Bogrod's eyes and head twitched still, and his body shook consistently.

"Harry, let the Imperius Curse falter!" Hermione yelled over her shoulder, all the while keeping her eyes trained on the only Goblin left in their midst.

Harry did not question anything, there was no time, the battle was too fierce. Still, she saw in a glance that Harry and Ron managed. Their opponents were likely the Snatchers from the tavern, the followers that had been closest to Gringotts. Though Hermione could not look if her assumptions were correct.

"Hermione," Harry yelled between his conjured spells, "hurry!"

She gulped, could not say anything in return. The Muggle-born had already been acting on instinct this whole time, she did not know how to speed things up without making grave mistakes.

A shot of adrenaline went through her as she watched the Goblin stumble backwards and fall on the ground. The Imperius was broken. He clutched his stomach and piteous sounds came from his mouth.

Hermione reached out to Bogrod, but she had not even touched him as he crawled out of reach.

"Don't touch me with your filthy magic, witch!" He screamed, the last word venomous as if it was the most horrid insult one could receive. _Mudblood_ echoed in her mind _._

She did not respond verbally, instead, she reached out again, with healing magic already circling around her fingers.

The slap to her hands was surprisingly painful, sharp nails had slashed at her skin.

This time Hermione did retract her hand, but Bogrod clutched her wrist forcefully. His nails dug into her, a sneer on his lips as he leaned closer. He wanted to hurt her, to scare her, to see her in tears, "You won't survive. He _will_ kill you, eventually, and I will laugh as I watch him _torture_ you."

Blood and spit landed on her face as he voiced his wish to see her dead. Her eyes widened, not in fear, but in pain; his grip was absurdly strong and painful for someone who sat presumably most of the day behind his desk.

She did not grant him the satisfaction of scaring her, instead, she deflected his threat with a question, "Why didn't you just help us? You knew from the start that I wasn't the real Lestrange, didn't you?"

He barked a humourless laugh that ended in a cough, more blood came from his mouth. "No I didn't," he admitted eventually, "You entered the hall just like her. The _spitting_ image of Mistress Lestrange. It wasn't until you started to try and demand that I realized you had to be fake."

"But then _why!?_ " Hermione asked exasperated, "If you had helped us, these people -" she gestured at Griphook and the ongoing battle, "- didn't have to die. _You_ wouldn't be dying like this."

"It wouldn't have made a difference," a fierce hatred shimmered in his glassy eyes, "you are all the same; evil, self-proclaimed saviours."

"But... But we are the good guys?!"

"Are you?" A rhetoric question, "All I see are _wandholders_ ; stupid humans, who think themselves better than anyone else." Bogrod couched and tried to remove the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. His face contorted in pain as he did, his grip on her wrist weakened and he slumped slightly. Blood loss would be his death at this rate, though the Muggle-born would not be surprised if his organs' fluids were destroying his insides as well. Bogrod continued his croaked tirade, despite the obvious pain he was in, "It's like choosing between two evils, one even worse than the other. And I choose the better of two evils."

"How can you say that? How can you think of us as the worst?! We are the ones that want to defeat that bastard! We are on the good side!" Hermione truly did not understand this Goblin. But she did not stay any longer, for a shout from behind reminded her of the situation. If Bogrod would not let her heal him, to try and keep him from dying, then she would not waste a single breath. There was a battle to be fought and they had to escape.

She yanked her wrist from Bogrod's weakened grip and ignored the insults that sprouted from his lips. As she turned she carefully picked Griphook's body up, laid him in the shadows of a big boulder and placed charms to keep his body intact and from decomposing. Without a second thought, she laid the Sword of Gryffindor on his body and made his hands hold the haft.

Then she turned towards the battle and sprinted towards it, for she had decided in a split-second that she should create the distraction that would enable them their escape. And she could only be a distraction if her entrance was sudden and massive.

Harry and Ron battled still and she warned them with a short yell, "Behind!"

From the shadows she leapt, mindful to avoid incoming spells. And whilst in mid-air, she created a force that shot forward, towards the assaulters. It catapulted most backward, a handful had been fast enough to defend themselves, but still, they lost their balance, stumbled and fell.

The moment she landed she sprinted towards the dragon. Harry had already foreseen this, he was ahead and grabbed Ron as he passed him.

Meanwhile, the Ironbelly slammed its tail at all who came too near and breathed fire at the fools who had taken the responsibility to keep it distracted. A few dozen bodies, some still burning, littered the ground around it, but the dragon was not unscratched either. For it had one hind paw raised and close to its belly. As Hermione neared she saw that one of its fingers stood at an awkward angle and knew it to be broken or dislocated.

Harry was the first to cast a Revulsion Jinx at one of the shackles around its ankles, the loud bang of destroyed metal echoed through the cavern. And the result was immediate. The Ironbelly slashed out with its released paw and hit several of its assaulters. Panic rose in the dark-clad opponents, most screamed in fear and a few started to back away and run for their lives.

Ron destroyed the last shackle, now only the chains around its neck remained. First, the trio had to get on its back, but how?

Another burst of blazing fire came from the dragon's mouth, it passed over the trio's heads and caused ruckus behind them. None of them took the time to look behind, instead, they started to climb the moment they could launch themselves at the scaled body. It was not an easy task, for the dragon never halted in its movement, but that also ensured that the trio would not be harmed by spells either. In the back of her mind Hermione wondered if the dragon had purposefully defended them just now.

Somehow they managed to settle on top of its back, between its massive shoulder- or wing blades. All which came afterwards seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.

Harry destroyed the last chains, Ron deflected the jinxes that were shot their way and Hermione began the destruction of the cave's ceiling, she shot Defodio after Defodio in the hopes to create a way out. The Ironbelly breathed a wave of fire over the ground around it, lashed out with its wounded paw and tail. And the few of Voldemort's followers that still remained were overwhelmed by it all.

But they could not breathe in relief, not yet. Their situation was too dangerous, any moment real Death Eaters could appear from around the corner.

At the tenth Defodio the walls of the cavern started to tremble anew, a roar from the Ironbelly worsened it. Boulders started to fall. Yet, instead of cowering in a corner the dragon started to climb, it stretched its neck forward to search for an opening.

With one arm around Harry, Hermione kept herself anchored on top of the dragon, whilst she shot spells both upwards and downwards. Upwards to help the dragon, downwards to keep their opponents from advancing. Harry and Ron did much the same.

Despite the obvious struggle the Ironbelly never faltered in its ascending climb, it was determined to get out of this hellhole. And suddenly a gust of fresh air greeted them as a Defodio destroyed the last rocks on their paths.

A triumphant roar filled the cave; the loudest, most heart-warming and eardrum-splitting one yet. As the Ironbelly wriggled itself through the hole feverishly, excited beyond belief, Hermione blinked away the tears that suddenly threatened to fog up her view.

With an endless amount of fire, the dragon emerged from the hole and onto the streets - Diagon Alley. And the Ukraine Ironbelly made sure that whatever awaited them outside was burned before they could form a threat.

The dragon left destruction in its wake, the houses it climbed upon before it had enough space to spread its wings were reduced to rumble. It walked forward on its hind paws and beat its wings; the roofs of the houses were like its take-off course. Slowly it took to the air. At first unstable but it gradually grew certain of its flight. Its tale smashed buildings it had not even touched for its take-off as if the dragon wanted to leave a lasting impression for anyone to see.

The destruction mattered nothing to Hermione, all that _did_ matter was that they had escaped and that the Ironbelly was free. She smiled and even laughed as the dragon opened its beak for another triumphant roar.

That is, until she looked down and saw the rapidly growing distance between herself and the ground.


	7. Danger Everywhere

The altitude in the air changed as the Ukrainian Ironbelly flew higher and higher. Until it twirled under, through and over masses of crystallized water. It was like diving, they were completely swallowed by the clouds. With its bleak scales, the dragon was probably barely visible, if at all, from far below. Still, in their escape the Ironbelly had damaged enough roofs and houses to garner the attention of the Muggles; a great part of the Ministry of Magic would have their hands full with Obliviating all the witnesses and victims, not to mention restoring all the material damage that had been done.

At times, the dragon roared its delight, likely celebrating its freedom. It warmed the Muggle-born inside to be a part of this creature's happiness, too be present during its escape. It was free, finally free; likely for the first time in its life. Had she stood on the ground she would have laughed with it, jumped high in the air and scream in triumph, together with the dragon.

Unfortunately, in her current position, she was far too aware of the increase in her fear, even though her fear levels were already sky-high.

After each roar, she felt a shudder of excitement run through the Ukraine Ironbelly's body. And, illogical as fear could be, it made her doubt the dragon's steady body as if it could fall apart right underneath her any moment. Thoughts which made her think of all the possible doom scenarios.

She could feel how its muscles moved with every wing stroke, every little stir or every time it descended or ascended through the air. There were times in which the dragon flapped its wings repeatedly, held its wings at an awkward angle or did not stir its body right and each time these happenings caused a slight hitch in the flight. Much like a toddler that had just learned to walk. And each time several feelings mingled, she felt both affection for this creature and she feared for their lives.

Her natural response was to tighten her grip on Harry.

By now she had a death grip on the poor sod; her arms were wrapped around his torso and her head was buried between his shoulder blades. There were moments in which she tried to settle her head on one of his shoulders or in the nape of his neck for comfort, but then the wind would roughly touch her face and remind her of the heights they were currently conquering and it prompted her to hide her face between Harry's shoulders again.

He was relaxed in her arms and was not bothered by her clinginess at all, in fact, he repeatedly squeezed one of her knees affectionately during the ride.

Still, she did not dare open her eyes once. Despite his gesture of reassurance.

If Hermione was honest with herself, she was disappointed in her (dis)ability to control her greatest childhood fear: heights. But she reasoned that she simply did not have enough energy to control her emotions anymore. Had she not such an intense few hours behind her, of impersonating her worst enemy, battling said witch, losing the first Goblin who had decided to join and help them and then escaping Britain's best-secured bank on a dragon's back, it may have been different. She liked to believe that she would probably have been able to enjoy this amazing opportunity to ride on the shoulders of a dragon and ignore the fact that there were dozens of kilometres between them and the earth.

Unfortunately, this was not the case. She was exhausted. If it was not for the fear that made the adrenaline flow through her veins, Hermione knew she would not even have had the strength left to cling so strongly to Harry.

Through her fear, the Muggle-born tried to focus her mind, on the most basic aspect that came with being alive: breathing. Breathe in, breathe out, in, out. She focussed on the sensations that it caused, just like Harry had instructed her during their Occlumency training. And given some time she calmed ever so slightly. It enabled her to give Harry a bit more leeway for him to breathe and shift his body, her grip on his torso a little less crushing.

Time ticked on. And the Ironbelly did not show any sign of exhaustion or lessening its speed any time soon.

The longer they sat on its back the sourer Hermione's muscles became. Her joints felt rusty, at some point she even imagined they would make creaky sounds whenever she would move her limbs; like she was a machine desperate for some oil in her hinges and sprockets.

Ron, who sat behind Hermione, was the first to breach the silence. He had to yell hard for them to hear what he said, but he managed it, "What are we supposed to do now? I don't think any of us can Apparate, too dangerous."

Harry responded, "I agree. We should look for an opportunity to jump off."

Hermione could not believe her ears, wished she had not heard what he had said, yet after a few seconds knew that she had heard it perfectly well. She did not say a thing, for she knew Harry and Ron were right. It was far too dangerous to Apparate from atop a dragon, for they would take the creature with them, and Apparating mid-air was just as dangerous. So how else were they supposed to stop their hitchhiking, but to jump off from the Ironbelly's back?

She was still pondering about it when Harry's voice cut through her thoughts, "There is a lake ahead."

"Yeah, I see it, let's do this!"

To Hermione's horrified realisation there was actual excitement in Ron's voice.

Her heart skipped several beats as she realized what was about to happen, they were about to jump off a flying dragon. Her grip on Harry tightened again. Could she hang on to him, let him do the jumping so that she could just come along? Hermione was afraid that she would not dare to jump otherwise.

He squeezed one of her hands. And for a moment she was certain that he would gently pry her loose. Yet he did not. Instead, he let go of her hand and wrapped his arms back around her torso, pressing her even tighter against him. Then he yelled at her, "When I say 'now' you have to wrap your legs around my waist." She nodded against his shoulder blade. Seconds later he yelled the demand and she did what she had been told.

How he did it, she did not know, but he did. They jumped and were airborne. It was a relief that she did not have to think, she literally just followed. Though the panic from earlier returned with a doubled force. It was subdued due to Harry being her anchor. She let her legs slip from his waist, whilst her hands kept a hold of his shirt. All this time she had never opened her eyes and she did not plan to open them whilst still in the air. The wind whistled in their ears.

It took longer than she had thought before they finally crashed into the water. Yet, at the same time, it was all too soon that the ice-cold liquid swallowed them whole. At once she opened her eyes wide and let go of Harry to enable them both to swim to the surface.

The underwater world held a spooky vibe to her, ever since the second task of the Triwizard Tournament she had not been able to shake off the feeling of foreboding whilst being in a lake. And the fact that this lake was unnaturally clear only worried her all the more. It was a testimony to the magical creatures that lived in it.

A nervousness settled within her as she grabbed her wand. She was glad to be wearing trousers and no dress, for that would have made swimming all the more difficult. The soreness in her muscles was enough of a struggle.

Meanwhile, she tried to think of spells and charms that could help them in this situation. Would a Confusion Charm do the trick? Probably not, since the creatures likely already knew of their presence the moment they had made contact with the water. But maybe she was being too pessimistic? Maybe these creatures were not as territorial as most mere-creatures were.

Harry was the first to break through the surface and another few seconds later Hermione had her fresh oxygen as well. Her lungs happily sucked them in.

She started to talk even before Ron had joined them, "We should swim - "

A splash was followed by a greedy inhale from Ronald.

" - to the edge immediately, there is somethi-" she was interrupted, for hands had grabbed her by the ankles. She yelped in surprise, the sound caged in bubbles as she was pulled underwater. Whilst she struggled to get free she watched as Harry and Ron were dragged underwater too.

Their assaulters were at first no more than a blur of dark green, with red and blue details here and there. They were fast and had no trouble dodging her arms and legs. As the struggle lengthened the swarm of small creatures grew. They were small and scrawny. Even with their fastness, Hermione saw that they had no scales, but rather a slimy skin. Which was dark, with lighter spots randomly scattered over their body; the perfect camouflage for navigating on the bottom of a lake. The red blur came from their eyes, eyes which flashed dangerously whenever light shone on their faces.

In her fight against the swarm of creatures around her, she had no eyes for Harry and Ron, she lost them out of sight. But fear for losing them gnawed at her, made her movements even more frantic.

Her need for oxygen grew and so did her resistance. She could not see a thing, all around her were those scary eyes, greedy hands and flashes of yellow teeth.

In her struggle to free herself there was not enough time to use her wand. The creatures' hands were everywhere around her, tugged at her hair and clothes, their nails painful on her skin. She did not see it, there was nothing to be seen with so many swarming around her, but she felt the water's pressure strengthen. Hermione was dragged downwards.

The nightmare flashed inside her head. Whenever she opened her mouth... Would she drown after all?

She did not care about the consequences of the spells that were about to fall from her lips, did not care that she could severely hurt herself. There was no alternative.

_She. Would. Not. Drown._

A slur of Bombarda's flew from the tip of Bellatrix' wand, all in random directions. Explosions were all around her, all hit a different mark. Some made scratches on the creatures, others blasted a few unconscious and the most fatal hitters ripped a half-dozen mere-creatures apart right before her eyes. A brownish-red coloured the water, intestines drifted around and slowly up to the surface. Yet there was no pause in the attack, in fact, their aggression only grew more heated. Her magic may have worked, but it only worsened her situation.

Then there went a sudden stir through the group of assaulters, they slowed, some halted completely. Hermione did not wait, she hit a few creatures with other spells to create a gap and swam through it as fast as she could. Her sight was already blurred and her lungs painful.

As she swam upwards she noticed the absence of the creatures, they did not follow her. She did not look around to make certain of this, but she was aware of the warming of the water. Was it because she neared the surface?

No, that was not it. It was an external factor. She wanted to understand, but right now oxygen had more priority.

Hermione gulped for air as she broke through the surface, a couch accompanied her greedy inhales. About the same time Harry came up, he was just as eager. Though as they took in the oxygen, their eyes caught sight of who they had thought to have left on its own when they had jumped off.

Clearly, they had been mistaken. For before their very eyes, at the edge of the lake stood the Ukrainian Ironbelly. It had turned back around to drink some water, or maybe to wade around in it and clean itself. For it stood in the lake at one of the banks and splashed around in it, warming it by breathing fire at the water. Steam clouded the air around it, twirled and cloaked the dragon in warmth.

The Muggle-born realised that this was what had caused the mere-creatures to turn tail. She had no doubt that they had disappeared by this point, far into the darkness of the bottom of the lake where the temperature was coolest.

Hermione's eyes were glued to the dragon until Harry whispered urgently, "Fuck, where is Ron?!" He ducked back into the water at once, Hermione hot on his heels.

At first, neither one spotted him, until their eyes caught the red hair that waved at them in the flow of the water. Ron was bound in something that looked like seaweed. His eyes were wide open and so was his mouth...

Horrified shock made Hermione immobile, then she mentally kicked herself into action. Ron needed to be brought upwards at once.

During her shock Harry had already crossed half of the distance, Hermione shot a spell right past him and it hit the mark perfectly: the seaweed. It unwrapped itself from Ron, who did not move. In haste born of fear, Hermione started to swim to the water's surface above Ron, where Harry would drag their unconscious friend to.

Once there she looked around for a good spot at the side of the lake, memorized it before she took one last breath and plummeted underneath the surface once more. And swam downwards to meet Harry. The moment Harry and Ron were close enough she grabbed them and Apparated.

The trio landed on the ground. Two of the three breathed in with vigour, the absence of movement from the third brought an icy dread inside the other two. Harry still gulped for air, whilst Hermione started to murmur an incantation hastily, one that would free Ron's trachea from the water and mud.

The unconscious boy laid on his back. A soft blue glow came from her hands which hovered above Ron's chest and throat. Then - to her obvious relief - his form started to stir. At once she moved Ron so that he laid on his side and he began to cough out the water in his body, inhaling air whenever he was able to. Harry took over from there enabling her to let her shoulders slump, she sat down in a daze.

She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and did not let it go for a while. Slowly needle pricks covered most of her body, her skin throbbed in a few places. Probably scratches and small cuts from those tiny claws. But she could not care less at the moment. Hermione covered her face with her hands and let go of the air in her lungs, she was so tired.

There had happened too much in so little time. Hermione knew that her body and mind would go into a shock. Her rationality present, even in times like these. She had to make sure a campfire was burning before that happened, they needed a warmth source and a place to rest. Even if sleep was unlikely to come.

From between her fingers, her eyes sought out the Ukraine Ironbelly. Unconsciously she let her hands fall in her lap and just watched the magical creature in tired amazement.

The dragon was still in the water, the steam still twirled in thick swirls around it; it clearly enjoyed the temperature of the water now. A crooked smile appeared on her lips, of which she was completely unaware. The Muggle-born watched the Ironbelly clean itself, much like a bird in a birdbath. At times, when the dragon shook its wings, water droplets even reached all the way where the trio rested.

In its own, mutilated way the Ukrainian Ironbelly was a sight to behold. It had such bleak scales, even more so now that dirt was being washed away with the water. The dragon's scales being of such a white quality that one would almost think it belonged in the tundra.

The Muggle-born heaved a heavy sigh and let her eyes turn back to Harry and Ron, the latter was supported by the other as he threw up what seemed to be all the liquid in his body. Hermione got to her feet and went through the usual wards they had always put up whenever they had settled down somewhere. It did not take her long to place them, she had done it too often. Though the wards seemed to ask too much energy from her now that the adrenaline in her body was fading, it made her head throb. Which was why she set the tent up manually, it was a small one, so it did not take her that much time and effort.

An hour and a half later she laid on a blanket outside the tent. She laid on her side and with her head on her arm while she stared at the fire. Flames danced high in the air whenever Harry poked it with a long stick, who sat with her on the blanket, his back leaned against her stomach. It created a companionable comfort without the need to speak or look at each other. The silence was a blessing for them at the moment. Not having to do or say anything, they just breathed, whilst their thoughts were all over the place.

What they had experienced could not be shrugged off easily and there was still so much to do as well. It was the first time that Harry realised that if they were to survive this God damned war, they should all go through excessive mental treatment, to prevent any form of PTSD to settle in them, if it had not already. Somewhere inside him, a skeptic voice told him they were far too late for that.

Ron was the only one inside the tent, he was fast asleep and snoring. The sound was another comfort to Harry and Hermione. For he was _alive_. Though he had collapsed the moment his body had retched all the water out of his lungs and stomach. Harry had healed each of his superficial injuries and changed his clothes to dry ones, which Hermione had brought in her shoulder bag.

The hearty leftovers of their meal stood in the pot Hermione had used to cook, besides the fire, for when Ron would awaken. Harry and Hermione had barely eaten anything, so Ron would have more than enough.

From the position of the tent, they could not see the lake. Trees and bushes obscured the sight. Though they had been aware of the dragon's departure. The start of its flight being not too discreet, once again. It clearly had a lot to learn. The absence of the dragon hung heavy in the air, literally; for birds were still too scared to fill the seemingly lifeless nature with their songs.

Hermione wanted desperately to inform Charlie of the Ironbelly's existence but had no idea how. For all she knew, he was still all the way in Romania. And even though she had to thank the dragon for her life, she could not risk contacting Charlie with a letter sent by a bird.

As they sat around the fire the duo decided that they would leave in a few hours, when twilight was upon them. For infiltrating Hogwarts in clear daylight would be a death sentence, even with magic and the Cloak of Invisibility at their disposal. Until then Ron would be left to sleep, he could use all the rest he could get. That way at least one of them would have a clear mind.

The Cup of Hufflepuff stood near the fire, neither Harry nor Hermione wanted it near them, but they could not let it go out of their sight either. It would not melt anyway, only Fiendfyre would be a danger to it.

Harry rubbed his forehead and muttered under his breath, Hermione watched it with growing worry. Every so often Harry stirred or his expression soured, almost as if he was being consistently poked in his middle. The problem was, he was not poked. Which left only one logical conclusion. The Muggle-born knew that visions must cloud his mind whenever he showed his discomfort. She wanted to ask about it, to hear about what he saw but knew that she should wait. Most often, if not always, Harry told Ron and her about these things on his own accord. And she knew from all their years together that Harry felt more at ease when he could tell about things in his own time.

So instead of asking anything, she focussed her eyes on the fire, whilst she let her hand rest between his shoulder blades. To remind him that he was not alone in this fight.

The crackle of the fire and the rustle of leaves in the wind were for a long time the only sounds that fought their silence.

Meanwhile, the fire danced before them and warmed its surroundings. Sometimes it almost looked as if the fire reached out towards the Cup. To touch it, make it melt. The flames grasped and licked at the gleaming metal, but the second it came in contact with the Cup the flames shied away. And Hufflepuff's Cup just stood in its place. Immobile and yet intimidating. Voldemort's aura forever present in the Horcrux.

Harry inhaled deeply, held his breath and then let his shoulders sag as he finally voiced his inner daemons aloud, "I see flashes of His rage, his reaction to the news. Bellatrix is punished, yet ordered to see to the damage that we have caused in Gringotts. He himself is currently on His way to look at the other Horcruxes. Though despite all the proof that we know about His source of immortality, He is still sceptic about the situation. Lucky for us, I suppose. But my guess is that it won't be long anymore. The moment it is dark enough we have to go, we need to end this war before it escalates any further."

"I am with you," she gently encircled Harry's neck with the hand that had laid on his back and softly squeezed it. She caressed the skin with her fingers afterwards.

"Thanks," he leaned into her touch. And they were silent once more. It was always difficult to talk about this for Harry. Though they did not have a choice in the matter, he could not win the war without help.

"Your act was great, Hermione," Harry muttered all of a sudden, whilst he poked the fire and made sparks fly high, "You were the spitting image of Bellatrix, you acted just like her. It was a scary thing to see."

"Thank you, I guess..." She was not wholly comfortable with where this conversation was headed but knew it was inevitable.

"Ever considered a career as an actress?" Harry tried to lighten the mood, but he could not put much humour in his words.

"Please, spare me," she snorted.

Her reaction made Harry smile despite himself. Hermione had a suspicion as to what he really wanted to hear, why Harry had brought this up. And with a sigh, she answered his unspoken question, "I don't know how I did it, Harry. I just did what I believed would have been Lestrange's reactions to all the happenings. Nothing more. I have never met her, nor interacted with her other than the time we fought her in the Department of Mysteries and in Malfoy Manor. Everything else I know about her originates from the newspapers or from... Sirius' stories."

He flinched at his godfather's name, to talk about both Sirius and Bellatrix at the same time likely remembered him of how he had lost what had been the closest bond to that of a father and son.

Hermione felt guilty for bringing him up, but had believed honesty on this sensitive subject more important than a vague answer. Maybe she had been wrong. Yet... She did not want Harry to think her to know Bellatrix Lestrange well, not for a single moment. She did not want anything to do with the woman, not even in someone's else mind.

Still... Her act of the Death Eater had been spot-on. And she knew it. She had seen the fear in everyone's eyes. Had even fooled a true Death Eater, lovesick as he was.

_It is not that peculiar for me to know how to imitate her,_ Hermione reasoned with herself. _Being haunted by the woman in your nightmares does that to a mind. At least, to my mind._

And, heck, maybe the Muggle-born had been observing Lestrange all along. During the to and fro insults between students and Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, and during her own torture session. Hermione's desire to understand anyone and everything was always present, it was who she was, one of her most basic desires. It was not something she could suppress, though she knew that she would not even if she could. And this desire for understanding was not any different regarding the kind of minds people tended to describe as 'deranged, crazy and sick'.

Harry nodded, grateful that he had not needed to ask the question aloud. It would have come across like he did not trust her, and even now he felt a pang of shame for even thinking about it.

He wondered if this was the right time to ask about her experience in Malfoy Manor, they had not talked about it yet. Till now Hermione had always sent him a certain glance that silenced the question on his lips. And he respected that; he knew all too well how horrid it could be to relay a most unpleasant experience. Yet he also knew, from having been told by no other than Hermione herself, that keeping things caged up inside could end badly for one's psyche.

He looked sideways at his living backrest, she had closed her eyes but he knew from her frequent in- and exhales that she had not drifted off. How long would she let him wait, how long would she keep the experience to herself? For days, weeks or months? He would wait for as long as she needed him to. But he also knew from experience that sometimes one needed a little push. And he was not sure what would be best in this situation. It was not often that Hermione was this reluctant to share something with him.

Harry cleared his throat and turned his head to face her fully, the sound prompted Hermione to open her eyes. Her brown eyes looked questioningly at him until they darkened in understanding, then she averted her eyes, to observe the ground between them and the campfire. The words he had wanted to speak were changed in the seconds it took him to voice them, "Whatever Bellatrix has done to you, it may have gotten to you, scarred you physically and mentally, but you will always be Hermione to me. And you... I..." He fumbled for words, did not know what was the correct thing to say, though he doubted that there was any, "just don't shut me out, please." He paused, inhaled and repeated his plea, "Please, Hermione, don't distance yourself from me... You tend to do that lately..."

His last words were not an accusation, he merely wanted her to realize how her behaviour had its effect.

She blinked rapidly but did not look away from the ground. She stayed quiet. He was about to say her name when she gave her non-verbal response, she nodded. Followed by another soft squeeze of his neck. And that was enough for Harry, he settled back against her. The tension in his body lessened. He did not need her to spill her beans, did not mean to push her over the edge; he just needed the reassurance that she would not cut herself off from him. He needed her.

Time passed, in which Harry and Hermione shifted only when their limbs grew heavy with bad blood circulation. When the sky was finally beginning to darken Harry stood up and stated that he would wake Ron up, they had to leave soon. His vacated spot was filled with cold air and made Hermione shiver and pull her knees to her chest.

The Muggle-born listened to the murmurs from inside the tent with an absent mind. Harry asked how Ron felt and got the usual joke in response. As Ron started to sit up, movement accompanied by the creaks of the springs of the mattress, Hermione called out from her place on the blanket, "Harry, there is Pepper-Up Potion in my bag."

She wondered how many more times Fleur's foresight would help them. With all the salves and potions they had already used, the conserved food and the tent. _She must be a saint,_ Hermione concluded in all her seriousness.

Then her mind wandered to where it had wandered ever since she had lied down: Gringotts, Griphook, Bellatrix Lestrange and the Ukraine Ironbelly. Strangely enough, Hermione could not be bothered to think of everything that could go wrong in the near future, by now she had enough experience to know that no amount of planning could ever prepare them for what Voldemort and his followers had in store for them. And she and Harry had already decided what they could do best next anyway.

They just had to wait for the darkening of the sky and for Ron to have eaten his meal.

Harry and Ron sat down not much later, it prompted Hermione to sit up as well. She looked at Ron as he wolfed down the stew that she had warmed up for him. He looked exhausted, if not for the Pepper-Up his cheeks would likely have been colourless. His red hair was a mess, yet not as messy as Harry's. And even though his clothes were dry, one could see that Ron had nearly drowned. _Or maybe it is all in my head,_ Hermione thought. She began to doubt the sanity of her own mind for the umpteenth time.

Meanwhile, Harry explained what little they had planned to do next. Nodding was all which Ron did, he only commented twice. He did not seem to be bothered by the simplicity of the plan at all. Something that made Hermione wonder if all three of them had stopped caring during their ride on the dragon.

"How are you feeling," Hermione asked once Ron was done with his meal, "think you can manage?

"We have to go either way," Harry commented, his eyes showed his struggles with the prospect. He did not like it, he would have preferred for the three of them to have time to recover fully and have some (more) sleep. Alas, this was not the case.

"I guess I feel as horrid as you look," Ron answered with a good-humoured smile and a shrug.

"Ever the charmer, aren't you?" She rolled her eyes.

"You know me, I always got a good word for everyone."

There was an easy banter between them, but soon Hermione let Harry and Ron do the talking, her thoughts wandered instead, to her parents, Viktor and Crookshanks. At times like these, just the three of them sitting around the campfire with nothing substantial as a conversation subject, rare moments when the war was so painfully obvious, her mind always wandered towards them. She could not help it. She missed them and was always worried.

When twilight had finally fallen upon them, the trio demolished their campsite and gathered all their stuff. Fleur had packed two Pepper-Up Potions in total, so the last bottle was shared between the three of them; they all could use the extra energy.

Hermione fought a yawn as Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over them, she was tired to her core, despite the potion. Though she knew that the moment they would arrive at their destination, adrenaline and mortal fear would kick her mind awake instantly.

She steeled herself as she grabbed them both, one hand of Harry and Ron tightly in one of her own, and Apparated them away, again.


	8. Death and Victory

Warning: This chapter can be unsettling, for characters and animals appear to be dead and actually die.

* * *

From the moment they appeared in one of the shadowy alleys of Hogsmeade all was a disaster. A piercing artificial scream announced their appearance in the village, the sound was horrifyingly similar to that of the cry of a Mandrake.

It roused the people on patrol and, shortly after the Mandrake scream had started, it was accompanied by yelled commands. The voices were from men and women alike, some with the accents of East Europe and one, to Hermione's surprise, was definitely a Bulgarian accent. The heavy footfalls of the people ran through the village.

A small group of figures ran past the trio, who stood huddled underneath the Invisibility Cloak and pressed against one side of the street.

Once the Snatchers, for they had not seen any Death Eater masks yet, disappeared into the distance and around the corner, another sound reached their ears. One that brought goosebumps to their skin and shivers to their spine, happiness was drained from everyone the closer they came. The trio looked at each other in panic, what were they to do? Using magic would give their position away, but they did not have a choice at this moment. They could hardly make a run for it. Their breath condensed just before they saw the first cloaked nightmares. The Dementors came into their line of sight, they came straight to them. It was a group of half a dozen creatures, all drawn to the trio's aura. They did not need to see them in order to know of their position. And it was just a matter of time before more would notice the new arrivals.

Harry, Ron and Hermione reacted as one, they drew their wands and conjured non-verbal Patronusses. The stag Patronus ran with pride through the dark alley, the small Jack Russel terrier ran swiftly at its side. Their light never wavered as they charged right at the Dementors, the stag with its head bowed to spear the abominations to its antlers whilst the terrier bit and tore.

But there was no Otter in their midsts, there was not even a sliver of its existence. Nothing had come from Hermione's wand. And the realization of what this meant brought a shake to Hermione's fingers, her eyes widened in fear. She had chosen the memory that had always served her well, which had enabled her to conjure her Patronus in the Army of Dumbledore on her second try and which had protected her against Dementors numerous times before.

And yet it had failed her... Or maybe she had become a failure herself... What was the difference anyway?

Her mind had become blank and she had to be dragged by Harry to be set in motion, she followed him not bothering to think of anything to say or do.

It was only when Aberforth entered the room he had ushered the trio to that Hermione's mind started to work properly once more. The man's bearing was one being unaccustomed to kindness, yet he had come to their rescue and currently carried a basket of bread and fruit in his hand. Neither of the adolescents reached for the food since they had already eaten, but they appreciated the gesture all the same. It made Hermione dare to request for something else, "Perhaps a Pepper-Up Potion instead? We have had a little of it, but I for one could use some more."

The old wizard shook his head, a grimace on his face, "When the bastards made this village one of their bases, they went through every household to stock up on anything alchemy related. I am still not even halfway on replenishing everything I have lost. But maybe Hogwarts will have hidden some for you to find."

Somehow the conversation between them and Aberforth steered towards the history of the Dumbledore family. It brought light upon matters which Harry did not wholly appreciate, that much was obvious to Hermione as she looked at his steely features. And as the tales continued she understood the bitterness in Aberforth's voice all the more. She had never thought Albus to have had such drama hidden beneath all the parental gestures. She had never thought him to have such greed for power. Yet he had declined a profound seat at the Wizengamot year after year. _Perhaps he had learned from his mistakes,_ she thought, for she did not want to believe that all these years of kind smiles and odd, though often truthful, comments to have been fake or forced.

The portrait of the young woman in the hallway turned out to be Ariana Dumbledore. Hermione was about to ask Aberforth when it was made and if there were such portraits of the brothers as well when the painting moved and from behind appeared none other than Neville Longbottom. At once they saw how much he had changed since they had last seen him. Harry and Ron greeted him with hugs and pats, their reunion a stark contrast to the evil that seemed to lurk in every shadow. Hermione kept it at a smile and a wave, Neville cocked his head sideways but did not question her verbally as he beamed at her. He thanked Aberforth for the proffered food and took a big bite from the piece of bread before he led them through the tunnel.

As they walked from the light of one torch to the other, Hermione had to keep herself focused on the story Neville told them. Otherwise, the walls of stone, the damp, wind-still air and the crackling fire of the torches brought her back to the cavern underneath Gringotts. Where the trio had trespassed, unreal as it may feel to her, not even 10 hours ago.

Neville told them a story almost too surreal to believe. All that Hogwarts had embodied had been sullied with, the grand castle's walls and floors marred by unnecessary and innocent blood. A place that had once enabled a safe haven of study and personal growth, had become a place of pain and indoctrination.

Despite the torches that lit the tunnel, the light that came from the door Neville opened blinded Hermione momentarily. She blinked, looked around and saw that the Room of Requirement had once again accommodated the wish to practice; it was their Army of Dumbledore's practice room. Only filled with more people this time. There were so many faces that looked expectantly at them, at Harry. The silence grew into murmurs and murmurs quickly grew into excited words and shouts. They were flooded in no time, people wanted to shake hands, patted them on the shoulder, some even hugged. But Hermione kept herself aloof (though she tried to smile at anyone who came to greet her), nodded or extended her hand to be shaken before anyone could try something else to greet her. The Muggle-born was not comfortable with all the attention and did not want to be touched by so many. She would have tried to shrink into the shadows had Harry not been there, she could not let him go through this alone. She stayed beside him, ever the loyal friend.

At some point a discussion started, one which she knew she had to listen to, but her eyes wandered. She searched as Aberforth's words echoed in her mind. And then her eyes fell upon a cupboard that had not been there before and wandered from Harry's side for the first time since they had left Shell Cottage.

The cupboard reminded her of the ones in the infirmary, wherein Madame Pomfrey held her potions and other trinkets. Was this supposed to be one of them, had the Room of Requirement taken one cupboard to place it here momentarily or did the Room duplicate it? With a little trepidation Hermione opened the small door, and exhaled once she saw what they needed. Hogwarts may be in the hands of the rotten cronies of Voldemort, but it still did what it has always done, helping students in need.

She pocketed two Pepper-Ups, one for Harry and one for herself, it would not do for Ron to consume any more of the potion. He had drunk one bottle and a quarter already. Hermione looked around, made sure that no one paid her any mind and laid her hand on the wall beside the cupboard. She thanked the castle with softly murmured words and fought the flush of embarrassment that rose to her cheeks; she did not think that the castle could actually hear anything, but she was not able to say or do nothing, Luna had taught her better than that.

Hermione re-joined Harry's side at the same moment the portrait opened to give way to a wave of red-haired people. Within the blink of an eye, the trio was smothered in the arms of a crying Molly, praising Merlin into heaven for keeping her children safe.

_Please let me go,_ Hermione's eyes watered, she had not felt at ease with all the attention and she was so incredibly tired, this did not make it any better. She blinked her eyes dry as best she could. And by the time other Weasleys got their chance for 'hello's' and 'good to see you're still in one piece's', Hermione could show them a smile, her panic under control.

It was the appearance of Luna that made Hermione break from the circle of red hair. The Muggle-born took to stand before the Ravenclaw and took her hands in her own, completely oblivious of the stream of people that had come with Luna to Hogwarts. They had not been separated for long this time, but how good it felt to be with her again. Luna smiled, wrapped her arms loosely around the other and hummed a few chords of a melody Hermione had heard before as she hugged the Muggle-born.

"You did well, Hermione."

"Why would you say that? I..." _I let people die._

"You are here, safe. Though your ability to attract Wrackspurt truly is impressive, bordering on worrisome."

Hermione smiled slightly despite herself, she took a step back to look Luna in the eye. They sparkled with life. Then it struck her that there was still a discussion between Harry and the others, which had only been interrupted by the appearance of the Weasley family, to finish. She motioned for Luna to follow.

The first thing Hermione noticed was the awkwardness between Ginny and Harry, but it was not only between them, for Cho seemed too keen on Harry. The latter tried to ignore it all as he defended his opinion against Neville and other eager students, all so willing to throw their lives away for 'the greater good'. Because that was essentially what everyone in this room had come to do, fight for what they all believed to be right. Hermione defended Harry whenever she thought others to be unreasonable, but he stood his ground most of the time.

As she listened to the comments that were thrown back and fro, something clicked in her mind, she turned towards Luna and whispered, "So obvious... that I did not see it before," Hermione's eyes wide in disbelieve, "They were all the prized trinkets of the Founders. That leaves Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

Luna studied her, "You believe the diadem of Rowena to exist?"

"Could it truly be that simple?"

"Blimey, it could be," Ron's excited whisper surprised Hermione, he had listened to them from the start, "Would be the perfect insult to the whole of Wizarding Britain, wouldn't it be? The bastard has an ego to uphold, he was actually able to find it and make a -" Hermione elbowed his side before he could spill any more beans with his rambling; even though she had a suspicion that Luna had enough information to make the connection.

"Then we need to figure out where He would have hidden the Diadem. Merlin knows how many have tried and failed before us..." Hermione muttered, still not truly convinced the diadem to actually exist.

"We have a statue of Rowena in our common room," nodded Luna, her fingers played with one of her radish earrings. Her eyes on Harry, who currently shook his head at something Ginny had said.

"Reckon there won't be enough time for us to look around the castle _and_ find a way to destroy the cup," Ron mumbled, his eyes looked into space whilst he thought frantically of possible solutions.

"You are right, we have too big a castle to cover," Hermione was somewhat reluctant to mention the following, she had read far too many stories wherein this decision had created the downfall for the main characters, but she said it anyway, "Maybe we should split up?"

Luna shook her head, "Don't."

Ron watched the Ravenclaw with a question clear on his face, "Why -"

Though Luna did not look away from Hermione as she answered him, "Because it wouldn't feel good."

Hermione nodded her defeat and said they should rescue Harry from this deplorable discussion, this was not going anywhere.

When he joined them and had listened to what they had to say a determined expression fell over him, "I think I know -" he cut himself short, focussed his eyes on Luna, "Could you bring me to the Ravenclaw tower?"

Meanwhile, Hermione took the two bottles from her bag and handed one to Harry. "Drink this before you go." He did, and she followed his example. The Pepper-Up Potions awakened their senses, made them feel awake.

"Yes, now follow me," Luna said and whispered to Hermione and Ron to be careful before she started out of the Room of Requirement. A bounce in her step. Harry followed her, looked over his shoulder to mouth them success and then he was gone. No smiles or waves were shared, their current situation suffocated any possible light-hearted interaction. Dread and fear, yet determined to fight.

But Hermione could not stay idle, she would not wait for Harry to return to give them instructions. She took a step closer to Ron, to relay her plan, "Harry is gone to find the Diadem, we have to destroy the cup in the meantime. We do not have the Sword of Gryffindor anymore -"

"It was crazy of you to leave it with Griphook," he muttered, shaking his head in a patronizing way.

Hermione felt irritation flare up, but ignored both the feeling and his words, "- however there still lies a basilisk's carcass down in the Chamber."

Ron's eyes widened in the realization that she was right, "But how do we enter it, we can't speak Parseltongue..."

"You don't remember any of the sounds Harry made? You are excellent at imitating sounds and accents."

A proud smile appeared on his face, "I could always try."

Hermione did not hesitate and went to Neville. Ron watched them talk; he could not help but notice the familiarity that was between them. Jealousy coiled in his stomach, he could not remember the last time that Hermione had not been distant to him one way or another. And here Neville stood, a good friend of the Harry, Hermione and him, but Neville was not one _of_ the trio. He had not experienced any of the shit Hermione and he had gone through in order to help Harry. Still, she was warmer to Neville, more at ease, then she had been with him. It was not fair.

Neville nodded, earnestness on his face and he reached out to squeeze Hermione's arm.

A moment later she was back beside Ron and he asked at once, "What did you two talk about?"

Her eyebrows furrowed as she studied his face for a moment, it made Ron nervous, she always saw right through him. Then she turned around and as she walked she said, "I told Neville that we will be gone for a while. And I asked if he could inform Harry, once he has returned, of the following: that we are where the substitute for the Sword is. He will figure it out easily enough."

* * *

The tunnels were dark and at places not easy to navigate through, the stones that had fallen last time Harry and Ron had been down here with Professor Lockhart were still not moved. And they did not have time to change this, as much as Hermione would have liked to. She silently prayed that none of the stones of the ceiling would suddenly slip from its place and land upon them or close their way out.

In the glow of her Lumos, a variety of plant life bloomed before her eyes. Mosses and herbs that could be classified as rare grew between the more common sewage flora. Hermione recognized most of them and knew their English names, though Neville would have been able to tell her their Latin names and obscure background knowledge as well.

It did not matter, there was nothing she could do with all that she saw right now. She made a mental note to bring Neville here some time, another thing to add to her ever-growing list.

With their fast pace, it was not long before they stood where the basilisk had been slain, its carcass still in perfect condition.

Hermione was mesmerized by the size of the creature, but most of all the darkness of its scales. It flickered in all different kind of colours in the soft Lumos' light, just like the feather of a crow or raven when turned this way or that. Or perhaps the scales were more like the blacks from the paintings in Malfoy Manor. Blue, green, purple. And still, it was as black as black can be.

"So," Ron cleared his throat as he looked with unease at the dead creature, "How are we supposed to get those fangs out of the carcass?"

"We have to pull them out, but not without protection. Wait, let me search," Hermione rummaged through Fleur's shoulder bag. She knew that whatever clothing piece they would use would be ruined beyond repair, due to the basilisk's poison. Therefore she would not pick anything but her own jacket, it may be the last piece of clothing she had bought with her mother, but she could not let any of Fleur's clothes be damaged, nor Harry or Ron's. Besides, there were still stains of her own blood in the material of her jacket from her torture session with Bellatrix, it was ruined already.

"Here, we should use this. Hold the other sleeve," Ron did as he was asked, the jacket was stretched between the two of them. With a tap of her wand in the middle of the collar, the material ripped apart in a straight downwards line.

Hermione held the material so that they covered her whole hands and made to grab the tooth, but was held back by Ron. "Let me pull them all out, we should not both put ourselves in danger of poisoning."

"No, I want to pull out one myself," she would not let herself be a damsel in distress, nor useless, never.

"Why can't you just let me-" he began irritably.

"Because I am not helpless, Ronald. Now let's get this over with."

They worked in silence. Not comfortable in the slightest. Hermione would never admit it, but it was not an easy task to get the fang out of the jaw, whilst she had to do it with the utmost care, as to not pierce herself. The smallest cut would be her death. A slow and painful one.

With a final groan, the fang finally cracked out of the jaw. Ron had his already wrapped in the cloth, for safekeeping.

"I reckon it's best to get rid of the cup immediately, the more Horcruxes gone, the better," Ron said and looked pointedly at the fang in her hand.

"Yes, that would be best." But she did not move, did not like the idea of doing it herself. Her deepest and most painful fears would emerge before her very eyes. She had heard the experiences of both Harry and Ron, knew the magic and images to have a paralyzing effect. She would be utterly vulnerable.

"Harry and I have each already destroyed one," Ron tried to encourage her, "It may seem scary, and in some ways it is, I guess. But the feeling that comes to you afterwards, that's what you should do it for. You will feel good about yourself."

The Muggle-born was not convinced and it was easily read from her features, but she did not say anything. She knew that Ron would not do it, she had heard from Harry what his biggest fear had been. Ron would never willingly destroy the Hufflepuff Cup before her eyes when his greatest fear included herself in Viktor and Harry's arms.

Hermione had to destroy the cup herself. Before anyone else would get a hold of her bag. They could not risk losing it. Without another minute to waste, she got the Horcrux from her bag and crouched down.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, tried to steal herself and heaved the fang high. Yet it was for nought. Somehow the Horcrux knew what was about to happen and Hermione heard the first slivers of her nightmare echo in the distance. The noises grew in volume as if a herd of horses galloped right towards her. Her eyes opened. And right before her, there was nothing but chaos. Faces screamed, all in different hues of blue, the sound so much like her nightmare's screams.

The voices were everywhere, a hurricane all around her.

It was only due to her experience with her nightmare that Hermione heard her, softly underneath the sounds of pain, like a snake that slithered underneath your clothes, or worse, underneath your very skin. It felt wrong, intrusive. Insults about her heritage were cooed to her, with a voice one would normally use to talk to a newborn puppy.

Hermione's eyes were glued, to the faces, unblinkingly. Tears welled up and blurred her vision, minutely creating a fog of blue. However, all was clear once more, for the tears streamed down, clearing her sight, whilst they left trails in the dust on her cheeks.

In contrast to her nightmare, these faces were not void of human features. These were the faces of her loved ones, friends, and family; constricted in pain and sadness. Her parents, Viktor, Harry, Luna, Fleur, the whole of the Weasley family, Minerva and other members of the Order of the Phoenix. A blur of faces to anyone who did not know them.

But Hermione did.

The people dearest to her started to fall forwards, their bodies made with the blue all around them as they fell to the ground. Lifeless, suddenly with no expressions at all. Their eyes all stared at her without seeing, yet, a silent accusation.

Her father and mother; their bodies huddled and partially on top of one another, both their mouths slightly open with words on their tongues Hermione would never hear. Their eyes cold and vacant, accusing her.

Viktor was closest to them but otherwise alone, one hand stretched outward in Hermione's direction, the other disappeared under his body in an unnatural angle. His eyes cold and vacant, accusing her.

Fleur was nearest to her; she had fallen on her stomach, her hair everywhere and obscured most of her face, yet one eye and the tip of her nose were visible between the tresses. Her eye cold and vacant, accusing her.

Luna had her knees pressed against her chest, arms wrapped around them, almost a fetal position, had she not raised her head upwards to show Hermione her lifeless face. Her eyes cold and vacant, accusing her.

Harry was on his back, limbs in every direction, his neck in an impossible knack in order to look at her. His eyes cold and vacant, yet accusing her.

She was a failure, and their dead stares accused her rightly so.

And, amidst it all, Bellatrix emerged from the darkest blues. Air rippled around her, much like the dark plumes she could materialize into in order to fly through the air. Her lips in that deranged, feral smile. Condescending and patronizing in the way she looked down at Hermione. And the hatred was in her voice. A woman that embodied Hermione's undoing. The killer of all the people who were dearest to her.

The Death Eater could not be prouder of her own accomplishments.

Hermione felt cold, frozen to the ground, the little colour in her cheeks had vanished. Everything around her forgotten, all her senses attuned to what the Horcrux showed her. She did not hear Ron's words, did not hear him raise his voice as he repeated her name over and over again.

It was the sound of Harry's voice that made her limbs stir. His voice soft, almost a whisper, yet they pierced straight through the screams, "Hermione, love, I am here. I am alive. You have to destroy it, _now_ , don't look at the images. They aren't real." As long as he talked, she would get through the movements that were required.

She raised the fang and...

CLANG!

The metal was pierced.

Everyone dissolved before her eyes, into slivers of blue, which in turn disappeared into the darkness beyond the light of their Lumos. Hermione inhaled deeply. Her hands shook as she covered her face whilst she bit hard on her tongue to keep the sobs from crashing through her being. She reminded herself to breathe, to inhale and exhale slowly. And counted backwards from fifty, whilst she listened to Harry as he breathed with her, at the same pace. His hands secure and warm on her shoulders.

After some time Harry said, "We need to get going, Hermione, Death Eaters and what not are swarming around the castle."

"Where to, Harry?" She asked, her eyes still wild from what she had to witness earlier. "You know where the Diadem is?"

He gave a curt nod, looked up to Ron to include him in the conversation, "I think so."

Hermione stood up to follow Harry and Ron, but when she reached the doors she halted and turned around. The air shifted. Her eyes were drawn to the place where she had destroyed the Horcrux. Not far from the basilisk. There was this eerie doom that hung around the remnants of the creature. Something she had not seen before, it made her realize how easily life could be forfeited, thrown away. A simple pinprick from those fangs would be enough.

"We should close the doors," Hermione said and heard the other two halt in their steps, though her eyes stayed on the carcass. "Lest someone..." _could kill themselves._

Yet as they closed the door she wondered how someone would be able to come here in the first place unless they could speak Parseltongue. Still, she did not depart until she was certain no one could slip past. There was not a millimetre of space left between the doors.

* * *

They ran through the corridors. Explosions, screams, and magic filled the air. They had to ignore it all, not a single duel made them pause. There could not be exceptions, not when that which they were doing was the only thing that made the difference. Hermione and Ron had to make sure Harry would survive it all.

There were obstacles all through the castle. Fallen harnesses and statues. There were holes in the walls, and some were even completely demolished. But worst of all were the lifeless bodies of humans and creatures that scattered the floors. The stench of burnt flesh and hair, urine and vomit hung heavy and unforgiving in the air. It was revolting. And it upset Hermione greatly. She made sure to avoid looking at the faces of the fallen. Whilst her inability to help gnawed at her consciousness.

She saw that Harry and Ron had a hard time too.

Ron even muttered his denial over and over again, almost as if the reality of war had just sunken in. But Hermione could not believe that to be true, she knew he had known this would happen.

Harry's features were drained of all colour. He had a frown on his face and a determined spark in his eyes. Despite everything, there were emotions, positive feelings, in his expression. He was never without love. It was always there, even when he had not wanted it to. That was what made him different from everybody else.

* * *

Once they arrived at the Room of Requirement they had to make sure no one was left inside. That was when the awkward tension between Harry and Ginny exploded. They argued, with rising voices about whether or not Ginny should stay out of harm's way. Clearly, Ron thought it best to give his opinion, before long he had himself tangled in the argument as well.

Hermione watched it unravel before her unwilling to mingle, she was tired again despite the earlier Pepper-Up. Her being still felt shaken from the display of the Horcrux. And besides, it was not her place to make a final decision. Ginny was old enough to think for herself. Then again, Hermione understood Harry and Ron's fears as well, after all, Ginny had been among those blue face screaming in pain. But it was hypocritically of Harry and Ron to say that Ginny should not endanger herself since that was all the trio had been doing this whole year and all thorough their school years before that.

The Muggle-born held the sigh of relief to herself when Ginny finally stormed off to partake in the battle raging in Hogwarts. Knowing well that neither Harry nor Ron would appreciate hearing her opinion at this moment.

From there the search began and it was only a matter of time until Harry yelled his triumphant find. However, once Hermione and Ron were with him, they were joined by others as well. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Petty insults were traded back and forth, which soon escalated into a fight. One that came to an abrupt end with the use of an Unforgivable. Chaos ensued. Brooms were used and rescues were made.

They all shot through the door that immediately closed behind them and crashed into the opposite wall, their brooms in splinters and their bodies bruised. All coughed, eager for fresh oxygen. Their clothes were covered with sooth and were signed at the end. But they were all alive, except for Crabbe... The roaring of Fiendfyre was a mere rumble now, almost like hearing thunder from afar.

Hermione sat on her hands and knees, couching the last of the smog out of her lungs when a horrible realization hit her.

"Harry, the Elves, we need to warn the house-Elves!" Her eyes wide in alarm, she did not wait for a response and scrambled to her feet. With renewed adrenaline, she ran through the castle to the painting of the pear. Harry and Ron hot on her heels. The Slytherins unceremoniously left behind.

* * *

Harry was gone. She did not need to search the castle to know he had voluntarily walked into the Forbidden Forest. With Voldemort's promise that no one in the castle would be hurt if Harry was delivered to him, it was only natural for him to do the most selfless act and deliver himself. Hermione cursed his foolish self-sacrifice. She clenched and unclenched her hands, jaw set and a glare in her eyes that kept the tears at bay. Because... What if he would not return to her this time? What would she do then? The Muggle-born fought the desire to scream her voice raw. There was nothing she could do but wait, along with everyone else.

People were all around her, they buzzed around in the Great Hall, even with all the fallen in their midsts. Her eyes travelled around the Hall. Sullen faces everywhere. The sounds of crying, arguing and hushing words suddenly suffocated her. A need to be anywhere else arose. Her mind once more with Harry. Where would he be, was he still walking between the trees to where Voldemort had settled for the time being? Or was her friend already faced with his worst enemy?

Restlessness overtook Hermione, she eyed the open doors that lead to the corridors and was faced with the destruction. A few others with likely the same despair to do something had taken to repair whatever they could. She brandished Bellatrix' wand from her holster and set herself to work.

* * *

The Muggle-born stared in appalled horror at the body in Hagrid's arms. Motionless... Lifeless? Shock and adrenaline held any emotional breakdown at bay. Her mind reeled, she could not seem to fathom the image before her. How simplistic it may be for another.

Harry embodied the impossible, he had thwarted Death one way or another often enough. He could not be dead. Could he?

The other thing that kept Hermione from screaming insults at the man and all his followers behind him, was the person to Voldemort's right.

Bellatrix leered at them all, giddy with whatever her Lord said or did. She intimidated many a person with her cracked teeth as she showed one of her cruel smiles. The dried-up blood on her clothes, hands, and face gave her visage a deadly edge. Hermione hoped, despite knowing better, that it was the Death Eater's own blood.

With the woman of her nightmares before her, it was inevitable for Hermione to become a victim of her own mind. She was forced to revisit the torturous moments in Malfoy Manor. But worse was the fact that the insult on her underarm seemed to throb painfully in recognition of its 'artist'. It made any of the lasting, though doubtful and naive, theories that the wound may not be cursed vanish.

At last, whilst Voldemort held his useless speech, Hermione recovered control of her body. Her stance defensive, Bellatrix' wand clearly visible to everyone who looked in her direction. She wanted to insult and infuriate the female Death Eater. Her tactic, basic as it was, worked. A Pureblood's pride would always be one of their greatest weaknesses.

Bellatrix' eyes widened before they narrowed, hatred burned within, clearly visible. A promise for what was to come. The snarl on her lips made Hermione wonder if the woman was actually growling, Bellatrix struck her as a person who would.

Hermione met those eyes, pretended her indifference; she faked it, but she was confident that her opponents did not know her well enough to see through it. She decided there and then that she would fight till her death, it did not matter that her wand was Bellatrix' own.

Being and fighting at Harry's side had always been dangerous, even life-threatening at times. That was nothing new to her, this was what friends did for each other. What was new to her, and very unsettling, was _deliberately_ deciding that she would fight till Death would take her to the Underworld. A decision which was brought to her by desperation.

She tightened her grip on the wand and purposefully made the purple sparks tumble from its tip. They twirled through the air, danced minutely on the ground, and ultimately vanished.

Bellatrix jerked her chin upwards, spat on the ground and set a step forward. Ready to attack. Yet she stilled her movement, her Lord's words filled the air still. It would not do for her to interrupt him at such a crucial moment. And Hermione, caught up in the moment as she was, showed the most condescending smile she could muster.

The Muggle-born did not see Bellatrix' response. Since the sound of massive wingbeats and surprised screams caught everyone's attention. For a split-second, Hermione thought it to be the Ukraine Iron Belly, to have miraculously returned to them once more. Yet another second later, hove beats thundered over the ground and Hermione saw how a herd of armoured Abraxan horses swarmed above Hogwart's grounds and how a few had landed upon the grounds. All the massive horses had numerous people saddled on their back, all shouting in French; vulgar insults to Voldemort and his followers or one spell or another. One rider stood out against all the others, as she was just as tall as Hagrid, Madame Olympe Maxine.

And, at the very same time, another source of thundering hooves could be heard and felt, for they made the ground underneath everyone's feet shake. From the tree line of the Forbidden Forest emerged equally armoured Centaurs. There seemed to be more variety in species than Hermione could remember ever seeing, for as far as she could tell from the distance. Their war cries drowned out commands given by Death Eaters. Only when the first spells were cast from above the Centaurs did Hermione notice the flyers above them. People on brooms, some clad in more colourful armour than others. And even their language was familiar to Hermione, for they were Bulgarians. Her heart clenched at the thought of Viktor being somewhere in between all those men, women and Centaurs.

Voldemort's followers were flanked from all sides and above. For even the sides closest to the lake were dangerous with the Squid and the Whomping Willow, both slamming everyone in reach.

Then a flash of green eyes and black, messy hair filled Hermione's vision; Harry had used the distraction to his advantage and dashed over the yard, he yanked Hermione with him into the depths of Hogwarts, Ron hot on their heels. And with them, others followed. Students, Death Eaters, Professors. The battle was complete chaos. There was no clear battlefield. Death Eaters and Snatchers managed to pass the senior duellers, Professors and living statues in the yard and brought as much destruction inside, but some were faced with death themselves.

The battle was scattered, a mess, complete chaos.

At some point, Bulgarian shouts mingled themselves with the English and French words. And house-Elves armed with kitchen utilities, even though they used magic to defend and attack, had determined expressions on their features; none of them scared for whatever repercussion their participation in the battle would garner, something that otherwise had always seemed to _literary_ loom above their heads.

Once during the battle, Hermione had caught sight of an Abraxan horse that ran rampant through the masses. Throwing anyone who stood in its way to the ground. Blood dripped from the horse's flanks, its eyes wide and wild, and foam had gathered at the corners of its lips; it was totally out of control, its riders nowhere to be seen. It had continued to run through the remnants of the Great Hall, its armour deflecting all magic directed at it until an exceptionally well-shot curse hit the horse underneath all the metal. Hermione watched as the animal stumbled, fall forward and break its neck in the process. Blood pooled around its carcass, the curse had clearly made an open wound somewhere on its body.

A mad cackle brought Hermione's eyes on one of the few people capable of shooting down such a fast and well-armoured target. Ebony mane flew through the air as the woman practically waltzed through the battlefield in search of new entertainment. Killing as many living beings as possible.

Hermione was not near Bellatrix at the time, both had their own duels to fight in different parts of the Great Hall. And Harry and Ron were with her, Hermione felt as safe as one could be during the war.

Of course, this was not to stay, for the Muggle-born had something that belonged to the Death Eater.

Hermione had just Petrified another two Snatchers when a curse shot through the battle directly at her, she was barely fast enough to dodge. Her shield was up and several more spells hit its surface. She jumped to her left and shot her own offensive magic mid-air in the direction of her attacker. It was deflected, the Death Eater's disgust was audible when Bellatrix shouted her next incantations.

They did not speak up their minds, did not insult the other nor ask anything, there was no reason for them to try. For there was too loud a clamour around them. And besides, what was there to talk about? Nothing. Bellatrix would kill Hermione the first moment she got. And Hermione would Body-Bind the dark witch if she were given the chance.

Then why did Hermione feel the urge to say something, anything at all?

'I have impersonated you, Lestrange, it was a horrible experience', 'Didn't think you to still be alive and kicking after your failure to stop us at Gringotts, Lestrange', 'Isn't it infuriating to see your own wand in your opponent's hand, Lestrange? I am even able to make it abide my every wish'. Her teeth had her tongue ensnared, to keep it from creating the needed movements for the taunting words.

The latter of the taunts would not have been entirely true, for, despite being able to duel, the wand did act up. It restrained some of the heavier jinxes Hermione shot at Bellatrix and made some of her offensive magic stray from its intended path. This was not something she would be sharing, naturally. At least her defensive magic had not faltered, so far. But would it stay that way? Battling Bellatrix was horrendous, she was dozens of Snatchers combined. A born dueller, and cultivated to kill.

Suddenly Bellatrix' snarl transformed into an expression that brought Hermione intense discomfort. The woman smirked. It made the Muggle-born aware of how simple it could be to take someone's life, how easily she could be killed. A well-shot curse was all it would take, just like with the Abraxan horse, and she would join all the other lifeless bodies on the ground. Maybe it would be an instant kill, but she did not think that possibility likely. Bellatrix loved to drag out the pain.

Images and 'what if's' momentarily blinded Hermione's perception and anticipation, which had kept her on her feet this long. And Bellatrix pounced on her moment of weakness, like a hound on a fox.

If it had not been for a sudden shield to be resurrected before her, Hermione would have been helplessly wandless, if not dead. A noise of indignant frustration came from the Death Eater, whilst someone else joined Hermione's side in the battle; Luna. They did not have time to acknowledge each other, for both attacked and defended against Bellatrix. Who was able to avoid and deflect everything, though her attacks did lessen now that she had two opponents to fight.

The two students did their best to match the Death Eater, and they did, but it was not enough to overthrow the woman. Bellatrix _did_ have over a decade more experience on the battlefield. And Hermione, somehow, got the feeling that the Death Eater was actually holding back, for she noticed the taut expression on her face, the controlled anger. Hermione did not linger on the thoughts, for it was infuriating to think that the Death Eater was not even battling at her full potential, whilst they, Luna and she, battled for their lives.

Hermione was certain of Bellatrix' lacklustre attitude in the battle when the witch started to miss on purpose. The Muggle-born's eyes looked worried around them, no one paid the Death Eater much attention yet, that was good. It puzzled Hermione that Bellatrix showed such conflicting behaviour. With her jaw set and the burning hatred in her eyes, the dark witch should have gladly blasted both students to dust. Yet her duelling showed lack of purpose and skill.

This could be just another trick, one Hermione could have been fooled by, had she not been fooled before. She was prepared for such tactics now. Yet she still worried. Her heart tightened.

Their duel continued. Hermione and Luna gained the upper hand in battle, but without any satisfaction. Despite this Bellatrix kept them at bay, she did not make it that simple for them. Hermione was about to set a new capture tactic in motion when a woman burst from the clamour surrounding them and screamed at the top of her lungs.

"It was you wasn't it?!" Molly's face was contorted in rage, anguish simmered underneath. And as she screamed she took her position against Bellatrix, both, Luna and Hermione, behind her as if they had been in need of saving.

The matriarch was an emotional wreck; her whole family duelled in this godforsaken battle and she had already lost one of her children. What if more had died already and she just did not know yet? The mere inkling brought hatred to the surface, it radiated off from her and brought her the power to cast the worst of the Unforgivable Curses over and over again. Until it finally hit her mark.

The green curse hit Bellatrix' chest, eyes wide, yet the dark witch had a blank expression on her face. She did not move her lips to form any words, and if there had been any, they would have been drowned out by Voldemort's wail of hysteria. He called out for his most trusted lieutenant as she fell backwards.

Hermione was in the middle of battling another Snatcher when Voldemort's cry for Bellatrix startled everyone. It enabled the Muggle-born to Petrify her opponent, and the moment her spell hit the body she snapped her head to the source. Voldemort's voice was filled with fury, yet his face was an impenetrable mask. Then her eyes found Bellatrix, and she watched as the woman fell, though before the body hit the ground it disappeared into the smog Hermione unconsciously started to identify with Bellatrix. Nothing hit the earth, only ash twirled down.

There was no time for a moment to just breathe, battles continued. People and creatures fought and lost, more deaths. That is, until Harry and Voldemort finally engaged in the inevitable battle.

* * *

Voldemort was dead. The war was over, and yet it was not, not yet. Death Eaters and Snatchers still swarmed in the castle and the grounds surrounding Hogwarts. People were not yet safe, they had to fight and capture anyone who still desired to fight for Voldemort's cause. Though with Voldemort slain many a follower surrendered or fled. And before long there was no one left to duel. Prisoners were taken to the makeshift cells in the dungeons, and fallen loved ones were gathered in the Great Hall. Cries of happiness and sadness filled the air. Laughter and sobs mingled. There was no end to the range of emotions that could be felt in these hours. A war that had started decades ago, had finally and truly been concluded in the early morning hours of this day. The 14th of May, 1998.

It was after the Golden Trio had returned from the Headmaster's office and were standing in the double door opening of the Great Hall when the first person flung himself at Harry. The boy started to cry from happiness as he thanked Harry over and over again. And like bees to honey, other people started to near them; all wanted to hug, shake hands, congratulate and what not. At this point it was not only Harry they wanted to be near to, for Hermione and Ron were being thanked as well. And unlike before the Muggle-born tried to wiggle herself free from the masses of people, this time she opted to hide in the shadows till this ridiculous display of gratitude was over. There was already a large gap between Harry and herself, filled with people, so it was not like she separated herself from him.

Yet she could not make it out of the throng of people, there were too many and there seemed no end to the well-wishes. She had to square her shoulders and abide it all. Hermione did not smile, not a single time, it would only look fake. The Muggle-born barely even nodded in acknowledgement and did not allow people to hug her.

Needless to say, Hermione jumped at the first opportunity that presented itself to get away from the masses of faces, smiles, tears and hands. With a sigh of relief, she slid in the shadows of an alcove, at last, from where she kept an eye on Harry and Ron. The latter basked in all the attention, whilst Harry looked as displeased with all the attention as he had always been. In this explosion of excitement, no one seemed to notice her disappearance.

Luckily there were still people that just walked past the war heroes. Normal people, with other things on their mind than to celebrate in a jubilant way; on their way to the grand oaken doors to have a bit of fresh air, or on their way inside to mourn their friends, family, and lovers.

Every time the Muggle-born was inside the Great Hall her eyes had feverishly glanced over all the yellowish, ash-coloured faces. Her insides twisted in horror at the mere inkling that another one of her friends could have been added to the pile of human deaths. Fred, Nymphadora, Remus. They were already lost to the afterlife.

She had not seen Luna anywhere since Molly broke their battle with Bellatrix apart. And the anxiety brought Hermione near tears, she was only able to calm herself with the knowledge that Luna was probably in a conversation with Centaurs or tending to the (hurt) animals.

From her peripheral vision, the Muggle-born saw a familiar silhouette drawn in the soft light of dawn. It made her eyes wander away from Harry and Ron. And her heart started to beat faster when her eyes fell on him. Viktor walked with a few others, whom Hermione did not recognize, from the grounds through the open doors and inside the castle. Clearly on their way to the Great Hall.

Hermione slowly emerged from the shadows, she had only taken a handful of steps when he noticed her as well and halted in his strides. He ignored everyone around him. They both did. Their eyes were locked, both their expressions unreadable.

She did not run towards him, instead she walked with slow, measured steps and halted an arm's length before him; to others, she looked the epitome of calmness, but in reality, she was afraid that her brain played tricks on her, that the person before her was a figment of her imagination. Though he immediately stepped closer the moment she halted. They did not touch for a few seconds longer until Viktor's hands grasped hers. It made an electric current dance over her spine. His grip on her fingertips was gentle, the warmth of his hands made Hermione's flesh tingle.

Viktor really stood before her, held her hands and gazed down in her eyes. _He is alive, he is, truly, with me. I am not crazy._

Then Hermione realized this could be an imposter, it could be anyone, as long as they had Polyjuice Potion. It was unlikely, after all there had just ended a battle, but not impossible. And without any hesitation, she asked in Bulgarian, _"What was it that I said when you took me to the Lovers Tree in your childhood village?"_

A glimmer of joy emerged in Viktor's dark eyes and he stepped even closer to whisper his answer, his scent a pleasant perfume to Hermione, _"I quote, 'I never get why teenagers make places so important, if you hadn't said anything to me this would have been just an ordinary tree to me.'"_

The Muggle-born nodded in earnest at the correct answer, a relieved, though still disbelieving, smile grazed over her lips, the memory was a fond one. Viktor had laughed heartily back then, much to Hermione's confusion and slight annoyance, only to giggle along once he twirled her around as if they had been dancing all along.

He shook his head slightly, on his lips the smile grew into a beaming grin, _"You are exquisite to me"_.

It made her blush though she too started to beam, and then more words flowed from her lips, with only the slightest of a stutter when her voice broke from the emotions that roared inside her. _"You are here, alive... Still with me... We both survived."_ Her sight blurred, Viktor's face was still all she focussed on.

Tears welled in Viktor's eyes, but he blinked them away as he let his fingers caress Hermione's cheeks, whilst his thumbs wiped away her tears, _"My girl, my love, I missed you so..."_ Then he leaned down and captured her lips with his own.

Hermione's arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck, as his arms snaked around her waist, their kiss was soft and tender. Their bodies pressed together, cloaked in each other's warmth. They luxuriated in the feel of each other's bodies, hands, and taste. They had been without one another for so long, it almost felt like their first kiss; tentative, shy and new. No one could deny being changed after this war, least of all the two of them.

When their lips parted, they rested their foreheads against the other. Hermione had her eyes still closed and felt how Viktor's breath danced over her face. Silence, beautiful silence, with only the scuffling of others in the background. The most important words had already been shared between them, for now, they could stand here and bask in each other's company. They were not in anyone's way, there were no obligations they had to fulfil and no one was out to hunt them. The Muggle-born would not have minded standing there in the arms of her lover for many more hours.

But that would not do, even though there was no immediate danger or need to do something, Hermione felt restless. She had not yet found many of her loved ones, did not know if they were alive or dead. She gave a quick kiss on Viktor's lips before she took a step backwards. _"I need to look for Luna, I haven't seen her yet. I don't know how she is doing."_

_"Of course,"_ Viktor nodded and looked around them. His friends had left, to grant them some privacy, but he needed to help with the preparations of the Bulgarian camp. After the battle that had been fought, no one was in a taste to return to their homeland, even though they had Portkeys. And besides, the castle and its inhabitants could not be left all on their own. Therefore they had to make a camp somewhere on Hogwarts' grounds. His group had been on their way to the Headmistress to get her approval and recommendations on the best spot, though he had obviously stayed behind.

_"I will be busy with preparing a camp somewhere on the grounds, but visit me sometime today, please? I will come and look for you the moment we have everything settled."_

_"Yes, I will come to you. Perhaps I can help with setting things up. What about the French people, will you set up camp together?"_

Viktor nodded, _"Yeah, and the Bulgarian Centaurs will be located close to our camp, though in the protection of the forest."_

_"Ah, they did strike me as Centaurs from another culture, they have such a different built than the English ones."_ Hermione murmured and nodded, whilst her eyes travelled to Harry and the dispersing crowd around him. _"I really want to know how you got the Centaurs to cooperate, was it the Bulgarian Centaurs that made the English join in the fight as well?"_

_"I will tell you everything you want to know, my girl. Later. When we have time,"_ Viktor leaned down and kissed her cheek softly, _"I will see you soon."_

Hermione nodded and watched Viktor disappear through the double doors into the Great Hall. Only once Harry was truly free from all the people did she start to walk towards him.

"Harry, I am going to look for Luna. I haven't seen her yet, and I am worried."

He nodded, his eyes met hers before he looked back at the people in the hall. He searched, and indeed, Luna was nowhere to be seen.

"Be safe," he said gravely as if the battle was still roaring all around them.

Hermione looked at him without a sparkle of humour at his tone of voice; she understood his gnawing worry, knew that she would be constantly worrying about Harry's wellbeing whilst being away as well.

After a few more seconds, his eyes returned to hers and he continued, "I will be among the Weasleys, probably. Or maybe I am going to arrange someplace for us to sleep. I doubt you want to stay in the Burrow." He attempted a wry smile, but it just looked pained. Still, Hermione appreciated his effort and squeezed his hand.

During her search for her favourite Ravenclaw Hermione helped people with small tasks, asked after their wellbeing, asked if they needed anything and healed minor wounds that had not yet been tended to. Whenever people thanked her, she just shook her head and trudged on with her search for Luna. But she could not even find her, not even at the edge of the forest near the Centaurs' camp.

In the end, Hermione did not find Luna, it was the other way around.

"There you are."

Relieve flooded over and inside Hermione as the voice reached her ears and she turned around to see the one she had been looking for all this time. Luna had a bandage wrapped around her right thigh but seemed otherwise unhurt and very much alive. Hermione actually skipped to close the distance and hugged her close.

"Thank you," she whispered, unable to say anything else at the moment. Images of Bellatrix flashed behind her closed eyelids, the feral sneer, the controlled anger, a flash of green that would have been her end if it had not been for her friend. They stood like that without saying anything else, until Luna took a step back to look at the Muggle-born.

"Hermione, I think we are having a serious problem, the ease with which you attract Wrackspurts begins to worry me." Luna's voice was serious, yet a fond smile brightened her face. She reached upward to tuck a curl behind Hermione's ear.

"Let's think of a remedy as we walk to the castle, shall we?"

"You have to mull less, Hermione," Luna quipped, "that is the whole point."

"Yes, that... would be a difficult task."

Luna hummed in a nondescript way and changed the subject, "Fleur is here as well, and I think she would really like to see you."

"Fleur is here?" Hermione repeated in surprise, "Did she come with the French allies under Maxine's command?"

"What makes you think that they were under Madame Maxine's command?"

"Well, the Abraxan horses are hers, or at least from her Academy, which led me to believe their arrival was out of some sort of camaraderie. One school helps the other, that _is_ what the Triwizard Tournaments stood for all these years."

"When you think about it that way, yes, it makes sense, but it was actually Fleur who rallied them all together. Though it would not be surprising if Madame Maxine took the role of command on the way, wouldn't it?"

"How do you know of this? Have you talked to Fleur?"

"I was sent to Hogwarts, instead of Muriels', to ensure that the Abraxan horses would find their way to the castle."

"What happened?" Hermione asked, eager to hear the story, instead of telling her own which she was likely asked to do from now on, time and again.

"You took off to fight once more against Voldemort, which left us in the dark. For most of the day, I practised spells and curses, I didn't see Fleur once. Not until after William had returned from Muriels' to take me there. She was wrapped in a dark cloak and ready to take her leave as well, to France. When I said I wanted to help, she told me everything I needed to know to be useful to the cause. I needed to secure the route the Abraxan horses needed to fly to get here in time." Luna paused before the open doors that led into the castle and looked around at the destroyed grounds around them. Unconsciously Hermione mimicked her. And not for the first time her stomach turned upside down, bile rose, but she gulped it down.

Many a person was outside. Some gathered the boulders and other large objects together, massive things that had been thrown about by the Giants who had fought at Voldemort's side. Others restored the castle at the most urgent places, a large hole near the lake was one of them; if it was not closed and a rainstorm flooded the lake, then there would be such an unnecessary problem in the cellars.

Then there were the Bulgarian and French people, who had started with setting up of their camps. They were stationed close to the remnants of Hagrid's cabin. The latter who could be seen as he tended to his trampled garden next to his destroyed house, with his half-brother Gramph at his side, who was wholly splattered with blood and one eye and the half of his head covered with bandages. Gramph stumbled about, he clearly could not use one of his legs properly, despite this all he seemed calm and serene. Probably exhausted from the fight, as were they all. Hermione could not see Fang anywhere, something that did not bode well.

Of course, it was not the living people that made the Muggle-born feel sick to her stomach.

It was the destruction that was left on the fields. The dark coloured patches of ground, grass which was coloured red. And spread over the field, in a sporadic way, laid still some limbs and organs, overlooked by those who had taken the responsibility to clean the grounds on their shoulders. Ravens and crows feasted on the forgotten pieces of the carcasses. Minutely Hermione wondered where all the bodies of the Death Eaters and Snatchers were held, for they were not in the Great Hall. But her thoughts were disrupted when Luna continued to lead them inside as she resumed to tell of her experiences.

"I followed Fleur's instructions as best I could, aware that it was likely the safest route to get to Hogwarts. Yet, if it had not been for Aberforth, I don't think I would have been able to get through all the men and women that patrolled the streets in Hogsmeade."

"He helped us too," Hermione breathed out, and she realized that he must have helped everyone that had come through the Room of Requirement into the castle. The man had been a reckless fool, but one she was extremely glad to have had on their side.

Luna nodded, looked at Hermione and smiled, "I am glad he did."

Then she led them to the Great Hall. As they neared, Molly's heartfelt crying could be discerned from the rest of the noises. It made Hermione slow in her steps, she had difficulty being among the dead, their eternal silence pressed hard on her conscious. If they had been faster, so many lives could have been spared. So many more students would still be able to pursue their dreams, so many more parents would watch their children grow. Hermione's throat tightened painfully, yet she followed Luna like a lost puppy.

Besides she had to be there, to show her respects to the dead, instead of constantly finding other tasks to help and distract herself with. And Harry was there, if he could handle the pressure of being around the dead, so could she.

Every dead person had been made presentable by funeral directors and coroners before they had been laid down on a bed in the Great Hall, but that did not mean it was not mortifying. People missed limbs, some had half their faces bandaged to keep head wounds from being seen, and Hermione had overheard people say that some of the dead had been too grotesquely mutilated to be made presentable. Magic had been a blessing in the first years Hermione knew of its existence, but now, after the war, she knew better. Never before had she been so brutally aware of the dangers of it. Magic could be just as destructive as most, if not all, Muggle weapons.

Before long, Luna and Hermione had merged with their friends. The sight of the ones that had died made her choke on the air she inhaled, and take a step closer to Luna. Hermione had been told of Fred, Tonks and Remus' dead, but seeing them lie here... deadly still...

Witnesses had relayed what they had seen, it was information that did not surprise anyone; Nymphadora had been killed by her very own aunt. And the hellish red colour of her hair made everyone believe that the fight had not been without insults and torture.

Remus' facial features were contorted as if the man was still in agonizing pain. And seeing his mutilated body it was very likely that he too had greatly suffered in the moments before his death. He missed most of his left leg and had a few additional wounds on his face and neck, which were all covered with bandages.

Fred was the only one with a somewhat peaceful look on his ashen face. Though George and Molly's heartfelt sobbing and wailing made it impossible for anyone to believe Fred anything but lost to them all. Both sat on either side of their lost sibling and child. Ginny hid her face in her father's sweater, who held her in his arms as he tried to make shushing noises between his own sobs. Charlie's absence was felt; Percy and William both stood there a little lost, arms draped over the other's shoulder in a brotherly fashion. Ron had one arm around George's shoulders, whilst his free hand covered his own face. Harry, Hermione and Luna stood with them, as much a part of the Weasley family.

Hermione looked sideways at the younger woman. Luna had silent, unbidden tears drifting down her cheeks, whilst her eyes were glued to the enchanted ceiling; for whatever reason, she was unable to look at the dead who laid before them. The Muggle-born circled her arm around the back of her friend and pulled her against her side. She wanted to comfort her without any words, words were useless. Harry took a step closer to stand before them and reached out for both their hands; one in each of his own and squeezed them gently. His thumbs ran over their knuckles as a heavy sigh left him. His head was turned sideways, his eyes never left the dead, it was clearly important to him to see them. Hermione, on the other hand, had seen enough, knew that she would be troubled by their faces in her dreams when her cursed nightmares would not do the trick. She closed her eyes and rested her head on Luna's shoulder. A moment later she felt cool fingers caress her cheek and Luna's fingers stayed there.

Time trickled on; neither Fleur nor Viktor joined them, both were still too caught up in the organization of their camp. There would be time for them to show their respects later.

As they stood there Hermione grew aware of the throbbing of the scars on her underarm. There was even a prickling pain that accompanied it, and as time passed it grew worse. It was as if there was something from within her flesh that needed to tear through her skin, to get out. The Muggle-born suppressed the tremble that seemed to settle in her arm, she tried to still its movement. Unconsciously her grip on Luna and Harry tightened.

She opened her eyes, blinked several times till her sight was adjusted to the light. The pain in her arm made her clench her jaws. Suddenly the image of Molly's tear-streaked cheeks reminded Hermione of only one thing, it was the Weasley matriarch who had killed Bellatrix Lestrange. A kill Hermione had, in all honesty, never thought possible. Images of her own battle with the Death Eater flashed in her mind. Bellatrix' sneer was the last facial expression Hermione had seen on the Pureblood's face, her disgust for all to see.

A heavier pain surged through her arm and made it tremble despite Hermione's efforts to keep it still. Her hands slipped from their place on Luna's hip and from Harry's grasp. All the sadness around her had only been durable with her dearest friends beside her, but the burning pain had invaded the safety they had created. In an instant, it was suffocating her, fear for the sadness. _Have to get out._

The Muggle-born took a step backwards, from out of the circle of her friends. Harry looked at her, a question in his eyes. She muttered that she had promised Viktor to go to him, and ignored Harry's response and Luna's question as she walked away.

Once outside, she greedily inhaled the air but did not stop to look around. She walked straight down the front steps and to the lake, the desire to cool her left underarm too great to ignore. It burned, the nerves in her skin were irritated and throbbing. When she rolled up her sleeve Hermione was not surprised to see that the bandages had become a dark red for the most parts; the letters had opened once again. Which made it impossible for her to put her underarm in the cool water of the lake. It would only get infected.

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she rolled her sleeve back down. She ran her hand through her hair, and steeled herself against the pain as best she could, she would not let it get to her. Instead, she went through a mental list of duties that would distract her from the pain. The Muggle-born opted that her help was certainly welcome with the repairs of Hogwarts and began her search for Professor McGonagall.

On her way she caught sight of the Whomping Willow, and to her astonishment there were still dead bodies hanging on and speared by its branches. It was not likely that the cleaning party had overlooked those bodies. For they could be seen from far away. Likelier was that the Willow had not allowed its branches to be cleaned of the carcasses, as if it was proud of its own accomplishments. To scare off anyone who dared to attack again. Ravens had already feasted on the eyes, giving the faces hollow sockets. Dried blood cracked and limbs hung at weird and unnatural angles.

Hermione forced her eyes away from the display. She had already enough nightmare fuel to last her a lifetime, with everything she had seen during the battle and the images of the Horcrux's illusions; all were far too fresh in her mind. Because of her idleness, even during her current search, Hermione conjured a Lumos in the palm of her right hand, and by stretching and curling her fingers she played with the strength of the light with which it shone.

* * *

Dirt and broken stones swirled through the air, a faint glow emitted from the debris. The castle's walls had magic within every aspect of it, centuries-old charms and enchantments had protected it. And even when reduced to little more than pebbles, the magic lived within it.

As sand, broken marble and stones twirled to reunite and form a wall once more, the castle's magical defences seemed to restore little by little. The growing strength of the wards was palpable in the air; it created the feeling of safety, despite the fact that the repairs were far from over.

Not one but two wands swished in rapid movements, creating diagrams most wizarding folks did not dare to conjure, whilst a Scottish brogue murmured chants as if in prayer. Both Hermione and Minerva had their brows furrowed in concentration, their current project sufficiently demanding most, if not all, of their attention.

This was the second outer wall both women attended to, Minerva having dealt with even more before she had been joined by her student, and the energy it took from them started to wear Hermione out. And Minerva started to look weary as well. Sweat made their skin gleam. Yet neither thought about quitting, it was not in their nature. Though when they lowered their wands and looked at each other, Minerva saw that it was time to call a stop to this. Exhaustion was etched on Hermione's face, even if the Muggle-born herself would not acknowledge this. Because, despite the evident tiredness, there was determination evident in those brown eyes.

Still, it forced the older woman to see reason. It was enough, the castle was fortified, other bands of people had taken it upon them clean and repair as well. And there was always tomorrow.

Minerva swished her wand to clean their attire from any flecks of dust, "This will be all, Granger, for today this will have to suffice. I bid you join your friends and loved ones, you deserve some rest after all that has happened today."

"Why does it sounds like you aren't planning to halt in the repairs yourself any time soon, Professor McGonagall," observed Hermione. She tucked her wand into its holster nonetheless, for she knew she could not argue with Minerva about this, the woman was still her mentor and Hermione did not like to displease her. Besides she felt a need to check upon Harry, they had not seen each other since she had departed from the Great Hall, which was a few hours ago and it began to gnaw at her conscious.

Said Professor lifted a single eyebrow and watched her pupil over the rim of her square glasses, a spark in her eyes. It was only due to the many hours whilst having been in the woman's care throughout the years that Hermione knew the spark to be one of humour. Yet at the same time, she was still not certain and after a few more moments of silence she bowed her head and said with a blush of embarrassment, "I meant no disrespect, Professor, truly."

With her eyes downcast, Hermione could not see the faint smile that appeared on Minerva's lips as she said with a tone that brokered no disagreement, "On you go, Miss Granger."

* * *

Once back inside the castle, Hermione went right, instead of left to the Great Hall. She would join Harry and Luna shortly, Hermione promised herself. She just needed to see something. Something she could not have said out loud if someone would have asked her where she was headed. For she felt drawn to revisit the place where she had communicated the most (in her entire life) with Bellatrix Lestrange, albeit in the silence of body language.

She rounded the corner and was only another corridor apart from the square where Voldemort had held his speech when her eyes fell on the one person that could make her heart skip several beats. And they made her halt after a few more steps. Viktor walked through the hall, in a manner that conveyed to her that he was searching for something or someone. And when his eyes fell on her it was clear by the relieved smile on his face that she was that someone he had been searching for. Hermione smiled back, the sparkle in his eyes made her momentarily forget what she had come to do. She stretched out her hand, whilst he covered the distance and entwined their fingers when his hand was in hers.

Viktor smiled as he looked at her, his eyes shone with emotion and with his free hand he tenderly caressed her cheek after he had brushed some of her curls behind her ear before he leaned down to kiss her.

When their lips parted he rested his forehead against hers and whispered, _"The camp was organized enough, I decided I could be with you for now. If you like?"_

Hermione angled her head so that she could plant several butterfly kisses on his lips, sighed in contentment as she angled her head back and spoke earnestly, _"Of course I want you by my side, Viktor."_

He could not stop smiling, his lips even cracked into a grin at her words. His shoulders a bit straighter, he looked proud. And it made Hermione roll her eyes, a gesture which she softened with an affectionate caress over his entwined fingers with her thumb.

However, a thought made its way into her mind and she could not shake it off, even though she wanted nothing more than ignoring it. Her eyes travelled to the gap in the wall that would have led Hermione to the place which she had wanted to visit before returning to her friends, all the while she said, _"Have you paid your respects to the dead yet?"_

At this Viktor's smile faltered and he shook his head, _"No, I haven't. I was too caught up in the chaos of organizing."_

She nodded and they agreed without words that it was high time he would make that visit. The bodies would not stay much longer in the castle. Somewhere before nightfall, all bodies were supposed to be transferred to their respective families, or, if there was no living family left or no house to bring it to the bodies were to be brought to the mortuary of the Ministry of Magic. Thus, with a heavy heart, she followed Viktor to the Great Hall, their fingers entwined all the way.

They entered the hall and Hermione studied her lover. For the first time today she did not let herself get distracted by his presence and truly looked at him as he walked next to her. Viktor's features seemed to have hardened during their time apart, or maybe it was the gloom in the air that shadowed her lover's face. Yet his expression did not betray anything. He had always been able to school his features into a neutral, noncommittal expression; something he had had to learn at a young age since journalists and fans always wanted photos. In situations like this his skill came in handy, but when Hermione had first met him in the library it had unnerved her. It was during the times that he had joined her at her study table which followed thereafter, that Viktor showed more and more emotion. His English had been so awkward, that she had asked him if he could teach her Bulgarian so that they could both be awkward in each other's language. It had surprised him, then he had grinned like a fool and done as she had asked. That was how they had truly started to talk and get acquainted.

The Muggle-born remembered it with fondness. On a whim, she pulled Viktor with their entwined hands to the side and wrapped her arms around him. In their embrace, she hid her face in the crook of his neck. This successfully broke his expressionless features; from surprise to a tender smile. She breathed in deeply and loved how his scent washed all over her. Months had passed in which she had not heard nor known anything about Viktor's wellbeing; a thought she had cried over in bed often enough.

_"What is the matter, my girl?"_ There was no worry in his voice. Another aspect of Viktor she loved, he did not unnecessarily worry about her, knew what she was capable of and believed in her. That did not mean he would not be there for her if she did break down. After all, he had been there in the summer wherein she had taken a rush course through her NEWTS, just before the trio had disappeared after Bill and Fleur's wedding.

_"I am sorry for being like this,"_ she muttered against his skin and felt his grip tighten around her ever so slightly, it made her smile and she kissed the sensitive spot before continuing, _"I was so scared of losing you, and now that you are here with me... I think that I am just a tad bit clingy. It will fade away, I promise."_

She felt him press his nose into her hair and kiss her forehead, _"One can barely call you 'clingy', Hermione. Besides I would be quite disconcerted if you were not, after all our time apart."_ Normally Viktor would have fooled around, to try and make her laugh, but, apparently, with all that had happened today, they both just needed to have these sincere moments.

For a few more seconds they stood like this, then Hermione leaned back to look Viktor in the eyes. She could not say anything due to the lump in her throat, even as she tried to swallow it away. When that did not work she nodded, steeled herself again and let go of her lover. He did the same and together they joined the Weasleys. Some of the members made their way to them and welcomed Viktor, others - George and Molly - had sunk too far in their grief. Unable to care, even if they had prefered otherwise.

Hermione smiled a broken smile at Luna, who looked lost, even with her father beside her. Once he had been a proud man, with his Quibbler and other eccentricities, now he looked almost as haggard and shaken as when his daughter had been kidnapped. It was not for the first time that Hermione wondered if it was Luna who held Xenophilius' together and going. During the few times Hermione had seen the man, he had always looked as if one of the most important sprockets of his machine - this being his deceased wife, Pandora - was missing, despite him trying his hardest to recreate and fill up whatever was gone. He always seemed to fail somehow.

With a caress over Viktor's upper arm, Hermione let him know that she would leave his side for a bit. For a moment he held her hand on his skin with his hand over hers, but he let it go with a smile when she looked up questioningly. Then he turned his full attention back to William, who wanted to know how the organization had gone of the Bulgarian army.

When she sat down beside her friend she was relieved to see that the Ravenclaw was still very much aware of her surroundings, for Luna scooted closer and laid her head on Hermione's shoulder. They did not say anything. Noises from all around washed over them, made their silence that much more prominent.

Not far from Luna Harry sat against Ginny and with the wall at their back, he was fast asleep. A blanket was wrapped over and around his body, his figure slumped, mouth slightly agape. Though even asleep the exhaustion oozed off of him. Luckily, no one had nor would bother him with the Weasleys around. Hermione was glad to see that he finally got some sort of rest, even though his neck and back muscles would very likely be sour and stiff once he awakened.

The Muggle-born's eyes travelled over the family members, she wondered where Charlie was and if he was on his way to Hogwarts or if he would go straight to the Burrow, did he even know yet? She had to inform him about the Ukraine Ironbelly, maybe he could find a place for the creature to stay and live its life in freedom and safety once the dragon was traced. Yet she did not move to ask about Charlie; in all honesty, Hermione did not know how to ask such a question. Charlie's absence had always been a thorn in Molly's eye, it pained the matriarch, and Hermione did not want to be the bringer of more struggles. Thus, she decided that she would wait and if no one mentioned him before they departed to the Burrow she would corner William and ask him sometime.

From her seat, Hermione watched as Fleur made her entrance. She was ashamed to admit that she felt discomfort rise in her stomach, yet it confused her as well. She reasoned that it was because of the way they had parted; if one could call it that for they had not even seen one another when the trio had taken their leave from Shell Cottage. It had been an uncomfortable and awkward situation. Not knowing if they would actually ever see each other again, yet neither brave enough or willing to reach out.

The French woman approached Arthur, shook his hand and gave him a hug, then she did the same with Percy, who stood next to his father. And the three of them fell in an easy conversation of subdued whispers.

As Hermione observed the three converse she bit her lower lip. A frown on her face. The Muggle-born did not know what to do, she could hardly walk up to her and reach out to hug Fleur like she wanted to. What would the quarter-Veela think? Would she push her away?

As if the older woman had heard her inner musings she let her blue eyes wander and land upon brown ones. For a few seconds they just stared at one another, then they both nodded. Hermione showed an uncertain smile. Fleur returned it, albeit stiffly, and then returned to her conversation.

The Muggle-born did not dare look Fleur in the eyes again in the hour that followed, too afraid that her smile meant that the French woman no longer considered her a friend.

George still clutched his dead brother's garments, his forehead rested on the lifeless chest of his twin. His heartfelt sobs no longer wrecked his body, but his silence was, if possible, worse. If it were not for his steady breathing Hermione would have feared the worst. Not a word reached the young man, one could try to console him, but he did not respond one way or another. He was in shock, that much was clear to anyone. And Fred would never again be the one to make him smile.

Molly had shifted in the hours Hermione had been gone. She was seated beside George, trying to be some sort of comfort, if only so he knew that he was not alone. There came a soft melody from between her lips, she sang to her son, whilst she made calming circles over his back with her hand. However, the song not only reached George, but it also reached the whole group, the family. It was soothing in its lonesomeness. A melody that brought everyone together, for it created a desire to be close to one another and made the otherwise depressing and suffocating sadness bearable.

When the bell of Hogwarts began to peal, people knew it was time to move the dead. The fallen would be brought to their families or the safety of the Ministry. In the weeks to come, one after the other would be given one last farewell. Some families had (long-standing) burial traditions, others preferred a regular burial ceremony, there were even families that burned their dead in the open air. Needless to say, there could not be a mass funeral. Though Hermione doubted that many, if anyone, would want that.

Hermione could not do anything but watch as bodies were levitated in the air, with people walking slowly behind them. It was a surreal sight, one that she did not enjoy in the slightest. Her eyes shifted to Harry, he was still asleep; she was glad he did not have to witness it. Knowing that it would weight on his feelings of responsibility.

The Weasley family too started to gather, Molly took hold of George and for the first time, he let himself be separated from Fred. In the meantime, Arthur approached Hermione. He tried to smile through his sadness, but it did not work. When he spoke, his voice was soft and broken, "Hermione, you and Harry are more than welcome to come and live with us, for any amount of time. You don't have to stay in the castle."

It sounded as if Arthur had given the invitations earlier to them, probably to Harry, when he had still been awake. However, Harry had likely declined and explained that they wanted to help with the reconstructions of the castle.

The Muggle-born nodded and thanked them for their generosity, promised to write and visit soon. She watched the family gather and levitate Fred, Remus, and Nymphadora and decided that she would not bother them about Charlie, not yet.

Ginny made sure to not wake Harry as she stood up. She walked towards Ron who waited for her. He glanced at Hermione and Luna, at Harry's sleeping form and then looked at them again and tried to smile. Hermione waved at him, whilst Luna smiled back. Then he and Ginny followed their family out of the Hall.

Viktor and Fleur stayed behind, deep in conversation with one another. Hermione watched them without really seeing anything, she was absentmindedly staring into oblivion, exhaustion started to set in. At some point, Hermione had begun to lean back against Luna. The Muggle-born could not deny that closing her eyes sounded sublime if only there would not be the nightmares to haunt her. Instead, her eyes sought out the other slumped figure again; Harry was almost completely covered by his blanket now, only a small part of his face was still visible.

Hermione's eyes widened in a sudden realisation, her eyes flitted from one person to the other. From sleeping Harry to conversing Fleur and Viktor, to Luna who still sat beside her but who was quietly talking to her father. The people dearest to her, except for her parents, were all here, safe and alive. Nothing from the Horcrux' disturbing images had come true.

She looked down at her hands and bit down on her lower lip, she would not cry. She blinked away the blurriness; breathed in deep and out again. There was too much sadness already, tears of gratefulness and relieve would not help anyone. Though in the hours that followed Hermione mentally thanked whatever God over and over again.

* * *

That evening she sat with Harry at the campfire in the Bulgarian side of the camp, though all nationalities were mingled. A hearty feast was going on. People laughed, told stories, Butterbeer and Firewiskey was passed through the circles around the campfires. Sometimes songs were sung by most of the people in the camp, but generally, people kept the volume relatively normal. In order to grand those who did not feel like celebrating some rest.

The Muggle-born sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her chin propped on one of them and a blanket clutched around her. With it, she kept away the cold of the night, the little bit that the heath of the fire could not reach. Her eyes scanned the people around the campfire, whilst she listened to whatever conversation reached her ears.

Earlier, soup had been served and her now empty bowl sat beside her on the ground, piled on top of Harry's. Who sat on the other side of the bowls and was currently in a conversation with a Bulgarian and two French persons. Their subjects varied, but none were really that interesting, at least not to Hermione.

She had been silent since Luna had gone home with her father. The Muggle-born had asked her to stay, liked it to have all her loved ones near. But the Ravenclaw had shaken her head, saying that she and her father had a lot of work to do on the repairs of their house and the proper resurrection of The Quibbler. Though Luna had promised to visit Hogwarts the following day. Hermione wondered if she could go with Luna to her house in a few days' time, to help with whatever needed to be done and to stay for several nights. Since she did not think that staying at Hogwarts all summer was what she wanted.

Her eyes were drawn to a new appearance in the circle of the fire's light, it was Viktor who talked in rapid Bulgarian with one of the other leading figures of their band. He saw her and smiled, whilst he still listened to his companion. When Viktor made his way towards her, leaving the other Bulgarian after a few more shared words, he sat down.

_"You look ready to sleep for a day or two,"_ he said, nudged her with his shoulder, whilst he stared at the fire.

_"I would love to."_

He nodded, _"I enlarged_ _the tent wherein I was going to sleep, I made room for two more beds. So that each of us has our own bed. I thought that maybe you and Harry would like to stay together for now."_

_"Thank you,"_ Hermione smiled a small smile and laid her cheek on her knee so that she could watch her lover's profile. She was flooded with grateful endearment; she did not have any experience with being in other romantic relationships, but she was willing to bet that not many men were as insightful as hers. _"For now I would like that very much."_

He tore his eyes from the flames and looked at her face, after a moment he whispered with a smile of his own, _"Good, I want you to sleep well."_

_"I will, I have a few bottles of Dreamless Sleep Draught in my bag."_

_"Oh, I had put a bottle on one of the bedside tables as well."_

_"Have you also gotten me the complete series of 'Languages of the Old and Lost' reprinted?"_ A sparkle of humour appeared in her eyes.

Viktor shook his head as a grin appeared, glad that his girl could still joke, despite her fatigue. _"Unfortunately, no. But I won't rest until I have found them."_

Hermione nodded and said in all seriousness, _"I would be grateful."_ It made her lover chuckle softly. Then leaned closer and kissed him.

It was not much later that Harry and Hermione decided to call it a night. Viktor escorted them, one of his hands entwined with Hermione's. He gave her a goodnight kiss when Harry had entered the tent and promised to be there when she woke up.

The duo were soon familiar with the tent, for they wanted to know all the corners and crannies of the place before they could even think about relaxing and, ultimately, sleeping in it. They pointed things out to each other, commented on the trinkets and good quality of the place, despite the fact that all had obviously been used on a daily basis for some time.

At seeing this Hermione felt a surge of urgent curiosity come to life once more. She had yet to hear Viktor's story, but they had not had time for themselves yet to tell each other their war experiences. However, neither would she have the energy to listen to his stories and be an actual attentive listener, even though she wanted nothing more than that right now.

"Harry," the Muggle-born said, successfully keeping toothpaste bubbles and spit from flying out of her mouth as she talked, "have you any idea where we are going to stay over the summer?"

They looked at each other in the bathroom mirror and she watched him shrug and shake his head at the same time. Yet, when he had spat everything out in the sink and had rinsed his mouth with water, he said, "I would like to go back to Grimmauld Place."

She nodded, then Hermione spit and rinsed as well, and finally, she said, "We can do that, but it is dangerous, we shouldn't go there alone. God knows how many Death Eaters and other followers know of the place. Maybe they even have taken refuge in the house, or set all kinds of booby-traps."

"Yeah, I have been thinking about that too," Harry's voice was slightly muffled as he pulled his sweater over his head. When he was in nothing more but his boxer shorts and shirt, he sat down on his bed and regarded his companion closely. "Have you got any ideas? We could make a visit to Australia? To see if we can find your parents?"

She shook her head whilst she stepped out of Fleur's trousers, "Far too dangerous, they are saver if I don't know where they are. Not until all of the most important followers of Voldemort are captured. Besides, their memories are wiped, they wouldn't recognize me. And I..." Hermione sighed as she shagged her shoulders ever so slightly and looked over at Harry, "I don't know if I can handle that."

"We'll find a way, Hermione," Harry's voice was full of determination, he believed in their success.

Hermione did not say anything to that and instead prepared them each a glass of water with a healthy dose of the draught in it. Just before she gave Harry his glass she announced, "I want to go into therapy and I want it as soon as possible."

Harry laid down under his covers, his still full glass and eyeglasses on his bedside table, "Yeah, I guess that is something we all should consider." He was silent for a few moments. Then he asked, "Where could we find a good therapist? Are there any wizarding ones?" He rolled on his side to watch a blurry Hermione make herself comfortable as well.

Without the sleeves of Fleur's sweater to cover her underarm the red on her bandages was clearly visible and it made Hermione's awareness of the throbbing of her flesh against the restraining cloth grow. She sighed as she traced the letters of the insult, even without seeing it she knew exactly where the cuts had been made. After doing this a few times she answered Harry's question, "The wizarding version of a Muggle therapist has gotten several different terms over the ages: Mind or Core Healers, Mental Herbalists, Shamans, Soul Cleansers, etcetera, etcetera.

"Yet, their official title nowadays is Healers of the Psyche. Though they are generally still called Mind Healers. There are a few renowned for their successes with traumatized Aurors, I have read about them. However, I would like to look into it a bit more before I make my choice to visit any of them."

"Alright, I will wait for your judgment on their work files."

There was silence between them for a long time.

It was weird for them both to think that the war was finally over. Voldemort was dead and they could think about the future without fearing to be confronted with their own death, or that of each other, before the end of the day. Suddenly getting degrees and masters in all kinds of subjects was a lot more plausible than it had been before. There was still a danger, too many of Voldemort's followers had not been captured or killed, but even if they had all been captured there would always be a danger for them. From now on they were part of The Golden Trio, everyone knew them, wrongdoers could easily target them.

Before they picked up their glasses Harry and Hermione set up several wards on the door of their room, the ones Viktor had agreed to use. Then they both drank their Dreamless Sleep Draught.


	9. No 'Happily Ever After'

Hermione woke to the sound of yelling, to voices she had never heard before. It prompted her to draw her wand and with an inhuman struggle, she sat up, threw the blanket from her body and set her feet on the ground. Every move was painful, her muscles were stiff and she felt tired despite having slept peacefully. As she stood up, she stumbled but kept herself from falling down nonetheless. It was then that she saw that all the other beds and chairs were empty, no one but she was in the tent. Panic rose, all sorts of thoughts went through her mind. She clenched her fingers around Bellatrix' wand and set out to find, and possibly defend, Harry and Viktor.

The first dozen steps made Hermione winch in pain. The burning and stiffness of her muscles gradually lessened as they got used to the motions, but it was still there when she drew back the tent flap. She had to blink several times for the sunlight practically blinded her.

What greeted her was far from what the Muggle-born had believed to be happening. For thoughts of a renewed war had first sprung to mind, one wherein escaped Snatchers and Death Eaters had returned to Hogwarts' grounds in order to renew the fighting.

The opposite was true.

Her wand pointed to the ground as she let her arm hang beside her body. There was no reason for panic, people were just having fun. And it was only as this information slowly came through her sleep alluded mind that she recognized the yelling as joyful shouting. Several people on brooms were playing a game above the camp. A ball was being tossed between them, whilst someone else tried to catch it. Her eyes followed the object that was thrown about, it reminded Hermione of being bound to other captives as they neared the haughty house and its... ruthless people living within it.

Shudders travelled up and down over her spine, yet she did not avert her eyes. It was only when a warm hand caressed her arm that she returned to reality. Her eyes met Viktor's dark ones. She smiled in relief and let a long breath escape from her lungs. With a single step, she closed the distance, wrapped her arms around his middle and laid her head on his chest. His warmth and scent calming her jumbled thoughts and easing her muscles from their tense fight-or-flight state.

 _"Good afternoon,"_ he said in a contented voice and pressed her closer for a moment before he took a step back. _"Do you want some soup?"_

 _"Yes, please, I really need some food in my stomach,"_ she squeezed his hand before letting go and watched her lover turn his attention to the cauldron above the fire, with a bowl and ladle in his hands.

Then her eyes fell upon Harry, who sat in the shadows of the tent. His hands busy with polishing a broom. A calm expression on his face. Hermione was about to sit down beside him when she realized that the only garment she wore was her underwear and one of Fleur's older shirts. She summoned the trousers she had thrown over the chair the previous evening. It may be damaged and bloody, but she could ignore that; she just needed something to cover herself with.

When she sat down gingerly, her muscles too sour to do otherwise, she bumped her shoulder against Harry's, who bumped her right back without taking his eyes from his work. The corners of his mouth were curled slightly downwards, a frown on his face.

Despite his mood, he murmured affectionately, "Hey, you."

"Have you been awake for long?" she asked.

He shook his head, "Only an hour or two."

From Harry's mannerism, she knew something was bothering him, but before she could ask what it was that troubled his mind her food had arrived. Viktor proffered her meal, a small smile on his lips. Hermione recognized the scent of the soup at once, it was a typical Bulgarian recipe. One that Viktor's mother was the best at cooking, in Hermione's opinion. However, Viktor's version was a close second. A grin split her stern features as she looked up at her lover, whilst she accepted the bowl and spoon. Her expression was accompanied by a twinkle of recognition in her eyes and a softly muttered 'thank you'. He kissed her cheek, for she already had a spoonful of the beverage in her mouth when he sat down opposite the duo. The soup had been kept on just the right temperature with the help of a charm.

Viktor updated her on the status of the camp and the castle. People from the camp were currently split into two groups. One half focussed on Hogwarts and was repairing whatever they could. The other made sure all was going smoothly in camp and in the forest, cleaning, cooking, building, etc. And some people, like the ones currently flying through the sky, took a breather. After all, people needed to relax and laugh for a bit.

In the early morning hours, there had also arrived a group of Aurors, of which a lot had disappeared into the woods at once. Likely in search of escaped followers of Voldemort. A few of the Aurors had stayed behind, in order to create the idea of security. They constantly patrolled the grounds. However, no one paid them any mind. None of the people of the camp was really impressed by the display of the Ministry's help, even though everyone knew this was Kinglsey's doing since he had taken the place as a temporary Minister. Still, people had bitter thoughts like 'where had they been when they had been truly needed', it nagged almost everyone.

The leading figures of the French and Bulgarian groups were currently in a meeting with Minerva and some other Professors about what would happen onward, how long their help was needed and together they planned things for the near future.

Hermione listened intently, whilst she observed her lover's lips move and his eyes wander over the camp. She knew he was one of the leading people of the Bulgarians, yet here he was. He had waited for her, just like he had promised. Warmth spread from her chest throughout the rest of her body.

When he was done she nodded and waited for a bit, till it was appropriate for her to announce her own plans for the day. "I need to go to Gringotts," Hermione said between the last bites of her soup, "preferably today. There are also some files I need to collect from the Ministry and St. Mungos."

Harry visibly tensed at the last words but said nothing. Viktor nodded and asked when she wanted to depart and if she wanted to go alone.

"I am going with," Harry said at once, running his hand through his hair after he had set the broom aside.

Viktor smiled in relieve at that, "Good, that is good."

"Shall we depart in an hour?" She asked and turned towards Harry.

He nodded and said, "Let's see how Hagrid is doing before we go, alright?"

Hermione agreed, happy to make a visit. Yet it was a feeling that faltered almost immediately when she remembered the sight of yesterday, of only Hagrid and Grawp. One being had been absent.

"I will stay here, make sure the camp stays safe and that people get the help they need."

The Muggle-born reached for one of Viktor's hands and held it with both of hers, caressing the back of his hand with her thumbs. Though her eyes were on the line of the forest, she was with her thoughts already with Hagrid.

Viktor squeezed her hand, a smile on his lips as he watched her. Yet a worried shadow was still in his eyes, but then he closed them and focussed on the sensation of Hermione's caress. They sat like that, not saying anything for some time. There was no need to look each other in the eyes to express their feelings.

Harry looked from one to the other before he busied himself with the broom anew.

* * *

Grawp sat at the edge of the forest, his back against a big tree and his eye closed. Snores came from his battered body and drool hung from the corner of his mouth. Had he not been as big as he was Hermione would have tenderly wiped it away with a tissue. Now she swished her wand and muttered softly. Once the drool was gone, she transfigured a wooden log into a blanket big enough to cover his body and feet. She watched the giant stir and waited for him to settle back, but he did not. He was as vigilant and tense as everyone else on these grounds; the battle had all beings still in its power. Grawp's not bandaged eye blinked open. Hermione made her way to him before he would move to stand up. The moment he saw her some fear seemed to dissipate from his features.

"Hermy!" He said enthusiastically, "Hermy safe! Hagger safe!" The Giant beamed with happiness at this point, though he winced as the motion hurt his head. With his hand, he covered the bandages as if holding them would lessen the pain.

"Hello Grawp," she said, "I am glad to see that you are alright, though I hope your head doesn't hurt too much?"

He did not verbally respond, instead, he looked at the blanket for a moment and then at her. After he had mentally processed the changes he reached out to her. She tensed, afraid for a repeat from such a long time ago, but then she noticed how careful he was. He had learned. All the time the trio had put in Grawp during Hagrid's absence and all the hours of teaching from all four of them, when Hagrid had still been there, were starting to pay off, now it was more obvious than ever. His hand enclosed around her body and she gripped his fingers for stability.

When he held her before his face Hermione had to fight to keep neutral features, his odour had not improved. One of these days she would ask him if he would like to learn how to swim.

"Hemry here?" He was calm and a smile lingered on his lips as he looked at the human in his hand.

Hermione stroked his thumb with her hand, grateful for his thoughtfulness whilst picking her up. "Thank you, Grawp, for being gentle with me." Though she could not help but to mentally repeat the hope that he would not suddenly tighten his grip. As she continued she answered him, her eyes travelled to the smoke that came from the cabin's chimney, "I came to see Hagrid. I wanted to know how he is doing and talk to him for a bit."

"Hagger here," Grawp said, but he did not give Hermione the impression that he would set her down on his own accord.

"Grawp," she said with a serious tone of voice, "you will have to set me down in a bit."

His smile saddened, but he did as he was ordered. That was also the moment when Harry walked up to them, he waved at the Giant and asked how he was feeling.

"Sleepy," Grawp said when Hermione was on the ground.

"I bet," said Harry as the duo watched whilst he settled back against the tree and tucked his arms under the blanket, "you handled yourself well in the battle. Thank you."

"Hagger," was all that he grunted and then he closed his eye.

Harry was the one that knocked on the door. From within the cabin, there came a stumble and a broken sob, the latter made Hermione fidget from one foot to the other. She was worried about the man, which had been why she had gone ahead to Hagrid. Instead of waiting for Harry to finish dressing.

The door opened and puffy red eyes looked at them before they teared all up and new sobs broke through the man. His tears disappeared into his beard as he threw his arms around Harry and Hermione. Who hugged him back as best they could.

After some time Hermione had gathered enough bravery to whisper her question between the half-Giant's heartbroken sobs, "Is it Fang?"

This only worsened the tears, but she felt a single nod from his head against hers. It made her gulp, in the hope to clear her throat from the painful knot that had appeared. She had feared this news since she had seen him without the dog the previous day, but having it affirmed was still like a slap to her face.

In her mind memories of the Bearhound surfaced. She had not known Hagrid from before he had Fang by his side, the dog had always been there. He had been a not so silent presence. The only times the loyal pet had been absent was during Hagrid's classes. Fang had always been friendly to them, always happy to be petted and a real comedian during his walks over the grounds. Sniffing all over the place, stumbling from the bushes, darting after a rabbit or two and splashing around in the lake. The trio had joined Hagrid during the evening walks often enough - especially Hermione, due to the period of time of her non-existent friendship with Harry and Ron during their Third year - creating enough memories to be able to say that she would miss the dog's presence sourly.

At some point Hagrid let them go and the duo followed him inside. His shoulders were hunched and he wiped his nose at the arm of his jacket multiple times. The fire in the hut had clearly not been lit yet, for it was cold inside. In an attempt to help Hermione conjured several sparks upon the wood in the fireplace and when she hung a filled kettle above it, a steady fire flickered proudly. Harry had sat down beside Hagrid and patted his shoulder awkwardly, but sincerely. All the while Hagrid had a large bundle in his arms. Fang was wrapped in a blanket made of dark wool. They did not say anything for a long time until it was Hermione who asked the question where he had found him.

"F-F-Found Fang... near the... near my c-cabin," Hagrid muttered between his sobs and clutched the bundle harder against his chest.

Hermione set a cup of water, for the tea was not ready yet, before him and said, "Hagrid, here is some water. Drink a bit of it, it will do you good."

Carefully the half-Giant set down the bundle beside him on the couch took the cup and slurped it all down in between his sniffles.

"We could stay with you, to help you bury him?" Harry said with a questioning glance at Hermione, who nodded at once.

"Yeah... I-I would like tha' a lot," Hagrid heaved a heavy sigh as he looked down at Fang's wrapped body.

Naturally, with Hagrid's current state of being and the burial of Fang, it took the duo hours before they Apparated towards Diagon Alley. Neither one was comfortable with leaving the half-Giant on his own, alas, they really needed to pay a visit to the Magical parts of London. They started with Gringotts, for that visit only contained giving information regarding Griphook's body and taking a bit of money out of their vaults. Something that could be handled in less than an hour, or so they thought.

When they appeared in front of the Leaky Cauldron Hermione tried to force herself to not think about the feeling of guilt as her eyes travelled over the facade of the store. Naturally, she failed. Their previous way of entering and disturbing the tavern and its inhabitants were all too clear in her mind. It was, after all, two days ago.

Harry lead the way inside. Hermione, afraid for an ambush of well-wishers and hand-shakers, wished they could travel underneath the Invisibility Cloak, but knew that opening and closing doors without any plausible cause would only alert the inhabitants. They had to go inside and face the music. She took a deep breath and followed him inside, withholding herself from grasping Harry's hand. That would only look weak, which was something she of all people could not be, she was a member of the Golden Trio. A person who brought hope to the people.

When they entered the room the same deafening silence fell over the room as last time. However, this one was not charged with fear, despair or hatred. People started to smile, tip their hats, some stood up and made to shake their hands, others yelled their thanks. Harry's smile was forced as he nodded to some of the people, Hermione did not even bother, her expression as serious as her hand too was taken by strangers. She just shook their hands and kept close at Harry's heels.

Only when her eyes settled on Tom did she falter momentarily in her steps. He was beaming at the two of them, unknowingly smiling at the one that had hurt him the previous time she had waltzed through. She tried to smile back but knew that what she showed looked forced and then hurriedly walked away.

Once they walked over Diagon Alley they both let sighs escape them. Harry ran his hand through his hair and looked around. There were only a handful of people scattered over the street. True, they too stared and smiled, approached and thanked them, but at least these people were not in great numbers. The duo was soon walking uninterrupted over the cobblestones to their destination.

"I wonder when they will start renovating and repairing these buildings and shops," Hermione muttered whilst she looked up and down the street. Most of the houses were still as ravaged, cold and empty as they had been before. Though here and there a sign of life could be seen, people and families were already returning to their homes.

"At least someone got rid of all the Wanted posters," Harry responded nonchalantly. Though as she looked over at him she saw his tense shoulders, he was vigilant and not at ease in the slightest.

"I want to buy Hagrid a new dog," Harry said as his eyes fell on the parlour that had once sold magical animals, but which was currently dark and empty. A few cages still remained within the forgotten shop, the small doors unhinged and broken. Hermione stood still beside him and as she took it all in she wondered what had happened to the animals. She hoped desperately that they were safe, the possible alternatives made her shudder. She forced herself to think about something else instead.

"Would it not be better to wait for a bit? To let him mourn Fang?"

He shrugged, "Will mourning help him?"

"I don't know, but in the state that he is, he can hardly take the responsibility of raising an animal. Besides, there is Grawp to take in consideration as well."

Harry looked for a few moments longer at the abandoned shop and thought about her words. He was not wholly of the same opinion but did not think waiting a few more days would hurt anyone. He nodded and followed Hermione's lead.

All around the bank the surroundings were still very much ravaged. The stones of walls and streets were still blackened from the dragon's fire. Most of the houses still had sagged rooftops, and a few were even partially or wholly gone (though the latter two were not visible from their point of view). And everything which had been made from wood had been burnt to ashes, no matter how well the objects had been protected by charms or enchantments.

However, the place from where the Ukraine Ironbelly had emerged was unblemished and sturdy, not a single stone looked to be missing. Though the restorers had made sure to make it merge with the surroundings, the whole surface of the street was blackened. As if the dragon's fire had been spewed all over it as well. If one did not know of the specific place, they would never suspect that this part of the street had been broken and had been a direct entrance to the oldest and best-protected vaults in Gringotts.

The duo could enter the bank without so much as a glance from the Goblin guards, but what they could not see was the sneers the Goblins showed one another after they had entered the building.

What Harry and Hermione _did_ see were the deadly glares they gathered from the workers inside. One or two Goblins even snarled as they walked past. Both of them ignored it as best they could, though it worsened the tension they already had in their bodies tenfold.

At the tall, wooden and overly decorated table, the duo halted and looked upwards to the Goblin that sat on the seat. His beady black eyes were mere slits as he had narrowed his eyes and glared at them.

"Potter, Granger," spat the Goblin as he looked with pure disdain from one to the other. Naturally, Bogrod had been replaced by another Goblin. He looked younger, yet his face was just as full of creases and wrinkles as all the elderly ones. The only difference was the number of hairs he still had on his head. "If you think we will let you near the vaults, then you are sourly mistaken."

"You can't keep us from visiting our own vaults," Harry stated irritably, an incredulous look on his face.

"On the contrary," laughed the Goblin, like it was a funny joke. A sneer forming on his lips as he continued, "For now we can, Potter. After all, you are responsible for the death of our Head Goblin and countless other brave Goblins, the escape of guard number 5 and damaged the bank and the surrounding streets and houses in _your_ escape. Of which the costs of repair have been close to the sum of an eye-bulging 7 thousand galleons. And we are not even done yet. I don't suppose that you would be willing to pay that sum, now do you? No? Thought so." During his small speech of accusations the Goblin had started to smash his fist on the surface of his desk after every few words, the volume of his voice so loud it echoed through the hall.

The Goblin took a deep breath, smoothed his hair backwards and continued in a somewhat calmer - though certainly not less poisonous - voice, "And we haven't even had the time to start with the reinforcing of the enchantments and wards you -" and at this he jabbed an accusing finger at Hermione, "- have _somehow_ managed to break. Thus, hereby I can conclude and inform you that if there is _anyone_ we may deny entrance to their vaults it would be _you._ "

Hermione listened with a stoic face, despite having the creature turn his wrath on her as he had pointed his knobbly finger at her. Accusing her of an achievement she was not entitled to. For it had been Bellatrix who had managed to find fault in the system of their wards, all Hermione had done was disentangle and demolish the trap the Death Eater had placed there.

After the Goblin had spat his words at the duo, he returned to the work on his desk and acted oblivious to the presence of the two before him.

Harry was silent, though anger simmered in his eyes and his jaw was set. He had _literally_ given his life to defeat Voldemort, after having fought the bastard since the year he had enrolled in Hogwarts. Time and again had he, Harry, acted selflessly; he had headed straight into danger without expecting, nor wanting, help from others, afraid they would suffer for him, or, worse, die. And now this Goblin made him sound like he was the worst Wizard on this goddamned earth like he alone was the cause of all this destruction.

He balled his hands into tight fists, the anger warmed his body and for a moment he wanted to yell at the Goblin. Yet before he had even opened his mouth he forced his hands to open and hang loose beside his body, he took a deep breath and looked over at Hermione. Who studied him closely, though the moment their eyes met she showed him a wan smile. Having her beside him gave him the certainty he needed. He was not a bad man and it did not matter what anyone thought of him, as long as she, and the others whom he was close with, knew and believed in him.

With another breath Harry gave his verbal response, his voice neutral "Fine, we'll return at a later stadium."

"Make way, Potter, surely there are other places you have to be," the Goblin waved his hand dismissively in the air without looking up from his work.

The duo did not spend a moment longer in his presence. They turned around and started for their other objective. The fresh air that greeted them was a welcome relieve from the dead air inside the bank.

When they were far enough from the grand building Harry leaned over to Hermione and whispered, "Why didn't you ask them about Griphook?" Yet before she had the opportunity to answer he did so himself, "You don't trust them to give him the burial he deserves. Because they see him as a traitor."

She nodded, "Exactly. The charms and wards I put on his body should hold for a few more days, 3 at most, and I think I will be able to persuade Kingsley to make it possible for us to enter before that happens. Which leaves us with only the one obstacle: how to find our way back to Griphook."

"Any idea how?"

Hermione arched one eyebrow and pinned her gaze on his, she flipped her hair arrogantly and smiled slyly as she said, "Of course I do." It made Harry laugh out loud and she relished the sound, it had been a long time since she had heard it.

* * *

Harry and Hermione walked close to one another with the Invisibility Cloak draped over them. They had to manoeuvre through Muggle and Wizarding folk alike in order to reach the building which no Muggle would ever see or, in case they had a need of fixing after being in contact with magic, would not remember seeing.

From the outside, the building of St. Mungos looked as ordinary as ever, but once inside Harry and Hermione momentarily lost their foolish bravery. The building was close to bursting, humans were everywhere. However, there was no unnecessary yelling, pushing or anything. People sat if possible, kept to themselves or talked in hushed voices with the people beside them or the Healer or assistant who was helping them. Said Healers went from person to person without any visible haste. In short, it looked and felt like controlled chaos. There were too many people in need of medication, extra care or nutrition. Yet everyone did their best to attend to the victims.

Suddenly Harry pulled Hermione to the wall, she made a soft yelp of surprise. And, in a reflex, she covered her mouth with her hand, though it was already too late. A few heads of the people closest to them turned to look at the sound, but at seeing nothing in particular they soon returned to their work at hand. She watched several Healers rush through the masses of people, some walked through the space Harry and Hermione had just vacated.

She nodded as thanks and promised herself to stay on alert from now on. Her senses on a constant watchfulness of their surroundings and for incoming bodies. It had been a beginners mistake, one she did not want to make twice.

First, they had to find a map of the building, then they could discuss where it was likeliest where they needed to go. Hermione took Harry's hand and slowly they navigated through the masses of people. At times they were barely on time to dodge an incoming human without bumping into another. And they had to walk slowly because otherwise, their footfalls would draw attention, a Muffle Charm could only do so much, even with the constant murmurs, coughs and what not that filled the air with noise.

It was on the wall near the (unmanned) receptionist's desk where they found the floor map of the building. However, they could not get very close because four elderly persons sat between them and the map, but they made do with what they could see. Harry and Hermione pointed out possible places of interest to one another, all in the silence of certain glances and hand gestures. Though they had haste. The longer they stood there, the likelier it was for someone to bump into them.

Within a few minutes, they were headed to their first point of interest, the only room on this floor that could possibly contain cabinets with the information they wanted. They had to navigate through another hall filled with people; waiting, sleeping and eating. All was relatively calm. Despite this, the duo actually stumbled against a toddler, who fell backwards and on his bum. His cries had alerted the adults, but by the time the mother had gathered her child in her arms, Harry and Hermione were on the other side of the hall. They entered a corridor that would lead them to both the room and the staircase, in case the first room was not the one they needed.

The corridor was mostly empty, with only a few Healers walking from room to hall and from hall to staircase. It was only when no one else was there that the duo opened the door, and closed it when they had slipped inside.

It was a claustrophobically small room, with closets against all walls. However, none contained the documents they wanted, all that they found were cleaning tools and other handy objects, there were also crates filled with empty potion bottles and several battered cauldrons.

They were out of the storage within five minutes and made their way upwards, to the third floor. There, in the East wing, three rooms had caught Hermione's attention. For they were next to one another, all the same size. Definitely bigger than their previous room, yet still not enough capacity to house even two humans with each their own bed.

This time Harry and Hermione had to wait and plan their entrance into the first of the three rooms since this corridor was far more frequented by staff than they would have liked. At last, after waiting for more than half an hour, they saw an opportunity to sneak inside.

What greeted them was utterly useless. She wanted to groan out loud, frustration was oozing off of her. It was a room filled with hospital clothes for patients and Healer robes in all kinds of sizes, which hung from coat hangers and were stacked on shelves. Not a single dust flake was visible and the clean smell of freshly washed clothes hung in the air.

When they were outside again Hermione wanted to walk to the rooms on other floors and forgo the patience and frustration it would take to sneak into the two rooms that were left. _These are just overly spacious storage rooms,_ she thought somewhat bitterly.

It was Harry's gentle touch on her wrist which kept her from striding to the staircase again. When their eyes met he shook his head and pointed to the other two rooms. Hermione let her shoulders slump and conveyed her doubt through her eyes. He shook his head again and together they headed for the second room.

Only to be disappointed once more when they entered and saw that the room was used as a drying room of sorts. Herbs, flowers and roots hung from the ceiling, potted plants stood on tables and shelves, with between them pots filled with eyeballs, teeth, feathers and other magical animal and human parts.

They were about to open the door when the handle went down. Hermione stiffened in shock. Harry pulled her to the side just as the door opened. A man in the regular white Healer robes walked over the threshold and by some miracle, he did not bother to close it when he was inside. The Healer reached for a bundle of roots when Harry pushed Hermione through the open door and followed her closely.

Just then the door of their last room was opened, from whence a woman came. Said woman moved hastily and was about to close the door already when, without thinking it through, Hermione conjured a gust of wind from outside, it threw several windows open and flew through the corridor. It took the woman off guard, she clutched the documents she carried against her chest, despite this a few papers twirled from her grasp anyway. She let go of the door, which opened enough to allow Harry and Hermione to slip inside.

Immediately the two stepped further inside the room, away from the door. And with bated breath, they waited from their side of the room for what would happen now. They could hear the rustle of paper and parchment. And then the woman reappeared in the doorway, her hair dishevelled and with a suspicious expression on her face. She stepped into the room once more and the duo pressed themselves against the wall, despite the fact that they could not be seen either way. The woman studied her surroundings, her eyes narrowed.

She walked around the room, inspected the few shadows that were present behind and beside the cabinets and bookcases, however, when she found nothing she resorted to magic. Hermione recognized the incantations and grabbed Harry's hand to hold it tightly. She knew that in theory the Cloak could not be summoned by anyone, but it being tested was not something she enjoyed experiencing.

Nothing happened, the woman sniffed in indignation and swept her eyes one last time around. Her instinct obviously told her something was amiss, yet she had no proof. And, at last, the woman exited the room.

The duo looked at one another, they both wanted to say 'finally', but neither felt comfortable to make any unnecessary noise. What if she was listening at the door? They stood in the silence for several minutes longer, their eyes scanning whatever they could see. The contents of this room were promising.

At some point Hermione started to smile, one of relief and hope, for certain etiquettes had caught her attention. 'Documentation Employees', and it was alphabetized. Nameplates above every drawer showed which letters were inside.

The Cloak was taken off, it would only make them clumsy whilst they worked. And they had to work as fast as possible since the longer they stayed the likelier it was for them to get noticed. Both had a dreading feeling that the woman could reappear from thin air any moment right next to them.

They were like a well-oiled machine, Hermione thumbed through the files in the drawers, searching for the correct names and professions. When she had a document of interest Harry took the file from her and duplicated it with a charm. It was not long before they had a dozen dossiers copied. And the stack had grown with eight more files when the noise of a door handle being used made them freeze for a split second. Both turned to their files and stowed them into Hermione's shoulder bag.

"I knew it," the woman stood in the doorway, her eyes wide open as she surveyed the open drawers in the room. Then her eyes fell on the trespassers, "What the fuck?!"

Harry and Hermione had not wasted a second. The Muggle-born shot a wandless stupefy at the woman, whilst Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over them. They ran to the door at once and jumped over the stiff body, which had garnered the attention of several other Healers by now. Some of them had their wands already drawn as they came rushing from the other sides of the corridor.

The Muggle-born Obliviated the fallen woman with practised ease, meanwhile Harry strengthened the Muffliato Charm that was already on their shoes. Then he tugged at her arm and they ran towards the staircase. Still, their footfalls could be heard and drew surprised - followed by angry - eyes in their direction even though they could not be seen. Soon "Thieves! There are thieves!" was loudly shouted thorough the corridor.

The status of the archive they had left behind was chaotic, with all its open drawers and randomly picked out articles and dossiers. For besides the dossiers of Mind Healers, both had also picked other files out of their cabinets and drawers. The duo hoped it would make it harder for the investigation - which was likely to be held - to pinpoint what exactly had been taken, or, in their case, duplicated, and for what purpose.

They burst through the last set of doors. People screamed in fear and surprise because of the suddenness of it. And it only intensified when one of the Healers belatedly yelled that 'the thieves' had escaped.

The air outside had cooled down since they had gone inside St. Mungos, daylight would soon make way for the shadows of the night. Yet they could not take much notice of the change. For the duo dashed over the street, dodging as many pedestrians as possible, some they even had to push out of the way as well. Since they could not pass otherwise. Needless to say, more screams filled the air and chaos followed them on their heels.

Harry and Hermione were like one as they made for the nearest alleyway. It was one they had spotted before going inside the building and had agreed upon going if their trespassing would be spotted. It allowed them the darkest of shadows, perfect for their escape.

Once in the shadows of the alley, Harry did not miss a beat and grabbed Hermione and his Cloak in both his hands and Apparated them to the gates of Hogwarts. Not willing to take any risks of being found the moment they would get out from under the Invisibility cloak.

They were still panting when the forest materialized around them. Neither bothered to take the Cloak off. Their eyes met, as they breathed heavily. Clear green and light brown. Then Harry closed his and leaned his forehead against hers. She closed hers minutely as well and asked between breaths, "How did you know it was one of the three rooms?"

He did not answer immediately. They stood for a bit longer like that before he opened his eyes, gave her some space and grabbed the Cloak to get it off of them. Hermione waited and watched patiently.

He shrugged, his eyes on the scenery of nature surrounding them, "I don't know, just had a feeling."

She shook her head, "Always the one that works on instinct." He looked at Hermione, frowning at first until he saw the appreciation in her eyes. The corners of his lips went upwards ever so slightly.

"I wonder if this will come in the newspaper, or if the Ministry will shush it down," Harry uttered to change the subject, whilst he put the Cloak away.

"If Kingsley wants to make a statement and show the Wizarding world he is any different from the previous and corrupt Head of the Ministry, he will let the newspapers in on the event and keep them up to date," she said and shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes on the files she was thumbing through, making sure they had not left a single paper behind.

"There were only a few Healers who saw _someone,_ because they don't even know who it was," he countered good-naturedly, "surely, you don't believe they would make that much ruckus?"

Hermione shrugged again, "Word will come out, it always does."

When she was certain and satisfied that none of the files looked to be incomplete she turned her head up and towards him, "Harry, we did it."

"Yeah, I thought we wouldn't still have to sneak around, now that the war is over. Clearly, I have been proved wrong," he joked lamely.

Hermione bumped their shoulders, "I told you that if we would ask for the files formally it would probably have taken several months. Not only because of all the paperwork it requires, but also with all their current patients, there will be hardly anyone available to keep up with the post St. Mungos receives every day."

He nodded and pointed towards the fence, "I reckon you still want to visit the Ministry, despite the late hour, or can I persuade you to let it go for now with the promise of some warm food?"

The young woman smiled wanly, "Take the lead." Indeed, she would prefer to go to the Ministry, but Harry was probably right to want to call it a day, twilight was already settling over the land. And now that they were on their way she preferred to be back in camp before dinner was served.

When they arrived at the camp they were told that Ron, Ginny and Luna had visited and helped for a few hours around in the camp and with Hogwarts. But the three had gone home not long ago. Harry and Hermione regretted that they had not been here sooner to at least see them off. Hermione considered visiting Luna the following day.

Dinner was enjoyed at a long table, it was one of the house tables from the Great Hall, which had been placed outside for them. There were several announcements made during the meal. Most were not of real importance, but there was one that stirred Hermione's interest. Apparently, some people of both nations would return to their homelands to start preparing and making arrangements for the return of both groups. The Bulgarians, in particular, had a lot to organize, with their Centaurs making it such a large group.

It made the Muggle-born turn her worried eyes towards Viktor, who sat at the head of the table, with his attention glued on the current speaker. Would her lover return to his family at some point during the summer? She bit her lower lip and returned her attention to her plate. Then she sighed and tried to let the worries go for the rest of the evening.

* * *

In the fireplace wood cracked, it made sparks fly high. Yellows and reds danced and created flickering shadows thorough the tent. Harry was nestled in one corner of the couch and Hermione in the other, their legs and feet touching at some places. But otherwise, both were completely immersed in their own worlds. The Muggle-born with the letter she was still contemplating how to write. While Harry's eyes travelled over the words of the documents they had copied during their trespassing. Viktor sat in an armchair nearest to the fire, a Bulgarian book about dark magic in his hands and a piece of parchment to take notes on at his feet with a quill on top of it.

The Muggle-born tapped the tip of her quill against her lips, her eyes were glued to the parchment before her. She thought of the different ways to bring forth the subject to Charlie. In the end, she decided it best to be direct, pleasantries could be reserved for another time. Her fingers held the quill delicately, yet with the precision of one who had written many an essay in her life.

Together, her fingers and the quill, weaved letters and created words on the parchment, spilling not a single inkblot. She gave a detailed description of the Ukraine Ironbelly's physical appearance. She wrote of all the scars she had seen, which littered the dragon's body like it was part of its natural colour patterns. How the milky haze had clouded the eyes, and yet how well the animal had been able to locate the enemies in the cavern. Reminding Hermione of a bat's ability to live and hunt with its sonar. She also gave an indication, to the best of her abilities, of the direction in which the dragon had flown. Though, in all honesty, she doubted the latter would be much of a help, the dragon could have gone in any direction thereafter.

She had no idea how Charlie and his team would be able to search and find the Ironbelly. It felt like her letter was incomplete. That she had not written enough, that there was more she should tell Charlie about, yet she knew she had written all that she could. There was nothing more she could tell or assist with, no matter how bad she wanted to. At the end of the letter, she did ask how he was doing, also saying that she hoped everything was alright.

Hermione was already halfway with the sealing and charming of the letter when a sudden idea made her halt in her ministrations. In the spur of the moment, she wrote another few questions beneath the letter.

_P.S. How is Norberta doing, has she found a mate yet? And would it be possible for us (Hagrid, Harry, Ron and me. Or only Hagrid, if all four of us would be too much of a strain on you or the dragons) to make a visit somewhere in the following weeks? I think it would do Hagrid good to see her; he has lost his dog in the battle._

She did not know if Ron would want to come, but she could hardly invite herself to visit Charlie without including his little brother.

Thereafter she did seal the parchment. Several charms would keep the paper from being damaged during the long flight the chosen bird would have to make.

"Would the Owlery still be in one piece?" Hermione asked to no one in general.

"Only one way to find out, don't you think?" Harry said and he pushed himself out of his couch corner and stretching his body. Hermione started to get up as well, though before she exited the tent she caressed Viktor's arm.

* * *

Together they made their way in companionable silence through the darkness of the night. They did not have difficulty to manoeuvre over the grassland, the moon lighted their way with only a few clouds to slightly obscure the fall of light. From the camp, which was by now behind them, came laughter and music. Sounds which soon had become mere murmurs on the breeze. The hoot of a wild owl came from the forest, its wingbeats practically soundless as it flew overhead in the direction of the lake.

Harry cleared his throat, eyes on the night sky and opened his mouth to whisper, his breath condensed in the air. "You know, we haven't... done 'that'... in a long time and maybe we-"

Hermione looked at him, her eyes twinkled as she interrupted him with an earnest expression, "Yes, let's do it."

He noticed with fascination how the brown of her eyes got an almost amber glow when the fires of the camp, despite the far distance, were reflected in her eyes. And before his very eyes, he witnessed, not for the first time, how his friend started to shrink. Magical energy he had always associated with electricity soundlessly crackled around and over her skin and clothes.

He followed suit before Hermione was wholly transformed, though he grew in length.

From low on the ground, she looked up, her ears twitched and turned as she got accustomed to all the sounds she was not able to hear in human form. With her nose high she sniffed the air and knew instantly why it had taken so little time for scavengers to appear after the battle. The grounds reeked of blood and the dead. It was disgusting, she swished her tail irritably.

Though the nudge of a big nose in her side made her avert her attention back to Harry, his antlers had grown since the last time they had been in their Animagus forms. And it made her wonder if her appearance had changed as well.

She yapped playfully at him and dashed forward. Her body light and agile, as she sped over the meadow. It was freeing to move like this once more.

Harry took his time speeding up his pace, it did not matter that Hermione would be far ahead of him and out of sight. Her scent was unmistakable and his hearing would do the rest. From the open meadow, he followed her trail to the forest, with a large scant of ground between him and the camp. Since his body, being as big as he was, was far less easy to hide.

He went from a walk to a trot and ultimately a gallop.

It was at the edge of the forest where he found her. She sat with her eyes closed and waited patiently for him to catch up. One ear turned towards him, the other moved constantly to listen to all which happened around her. Her nose twitched every now and then. It gave him the feeling that, despite her enthusiasm, Hermione was not wholly comfortable being in their Animagus form, which was not that surprising with so many people and Centaurs nearby. Especially the latter could prove troublesome if they were to pass or cross paths with them.

He slowed down and when he was only a few metres apart from her he grunted softly in greeting.

She opened her eyes and stood up. Hermione looked expectantly up at him, suspecting that he had some form of entertainment in his head. Harry had been the one who had longed to transform into their animal counterparts, after all. Not that she had objected. It was just that it had been a while and she was not comfortable with this many Centaurs in the forest, even though they were some distance away still.

Yet when he came to a halt before her and lowered his head to nudge her again, one she sidestepped, it was clear to her that Harry had acted on his desire without a second thought. Hermione laughed inwardly despite herself, an emotion that she could not really give a voice to in her current form.

A chirp did come from her throat before she started to trot, this time she relished the way her paws and body felt as she moved around with no hesitation through the darkness.

Together they weaved between the many trees. At times they ran after small rodents together, other times they chased each other. They passed the time like this until they arrived by the lake. Once there they splashed around, swam in the water and tried to make the other wetter by jumping around in the shallow parts of the lake (something Harry obviously won). In other words, they had their moment of silliness, with no one there to judge them other than themselves. And they both loved it.

Needless to say, it was a considerable time later that the letter was sent with the strongest, most capable-looking owl from the still intact Owlery. Hermione had hope that it would arrive within a week's time. And they made their way back to camp on their two legs, obviously not about to share the news with everyone that they were unregistered Animagi.

It was not until she saw Viktor's worried face that she thought about the time. They had taken hours for something that would not even have taken half the time at most. By now it was past midnight. Though when he saw them the tenseness of his body lessened immediately, his lips forming a relieved smile.

The moment she had seen his worried state Hermione had feared for a repeat of the outburst from a certain quarter-Veela after her infamous walk in the dunes. Though when he smiled she knew her fears were unnecessary. No belittling words, frowns or questions came from him either. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. Fondness sparkled in his dark eyes.

This was one of the (many) reasons why she was still so overly smitten with him, he had never acted like her protector. She was no damsel in distress in his eyes.

* * *

Minerva was seated behind her desk writing a letter to send to the Head Auror, when the delivery of the Daily Prophet halted her fingers minutely. With a mindless flick of her unoccupied hand, the window opened and the owl hopped inside. From the windowsill, it flew on the edge of her desk and neatly set the paper down on its surface.

The woman finished a few more sentences before she set her quill aside, knowing from experience that she could only ignore the bird for so long until it would go on a rampage in her study. Then she sat back, took her squire glasses from her nose and laid them on the letter. Her eyes focused on the barn owl, who stared unblinkingly back at her. Until it took a step forward and made a soft clicking noise with its beak, all the while still staring at the woman.

The corners of her mouth turned upward ever so slightly. And, at last, she reached out to gently stroke the breast feathers of the owl, who - finally - closed its eyes to relish the attention. It clicked its beak rapidly, this time the sound was soft, barely audible for human ears.

"Thank you, Gràinne, for this display of your endless patience," the woman spoke, at last, sarcasm barely refrained.

Said owl chattered in return. Minerva arched an eyebrow, watched the creature bask in the attention and shook her head slightly, whilst her fingers still caressed Gràinne's feathers. A name Minerva had given to the owl herself. Since the office whence it came from never took the liberty to inform people of the names of their personal deliverers.

This owl had been assigned to Minerva only a little time ago and, truth be told, she missed the far milder personality of her previous deliverer. Though, not one to wallow in self-pity, Minerva took the replacement in stride.

To her left, a tray with tea, milk, a cup, saucers, a spoon and a piece of meat appeared. The smell of the latter being the cause for the sudden opening of Gràinne's eyes. Her wide-open eyes now glued to the piece of food on one of the saucers. The first time the owl experienced the arrival of such a treat there had happened something akin to an 'it is mine and I want it now tantrum'. Of course, such behaviour was not appreciated in the slightest and Minerva had made this very clear. Ever since, Gràinne had gradually learned some self-control, though it was far from perfect.

She poured herself a cup of tea with a few drops of milk before she took the saucer with meat and set it at the feet of the owl. Who leaned forward, snatched it and gobbled the treat down.

"I suppose we could work on your table manners next," Minerva said dryly, though she found humour in the barn owl's behaviour. It was quite endearing to watch it walk over her desk, inspecting all that was inside the room from a distance.

However, there were more pressing matters at hand than to watch a barn owl prance around in her study. She cleared her throat and pointed at the open window when Gràinne turned her head towards the source of the noise. The owl was obedient and flew to the windowsill, hopped through and spread its wings wholly to start its journey back to the office. The window closed softly behind the barn owl's exit.

Minerva put her cup back on its saucer, set her glasses back on her nose and took the quill in hand to return to her correspondence. And she would have, had the massive lettering on the Daily Prophet not garnered her attention: "Is break-in in St. Mungos linked to attack in the suburbs of London?"

* * *

With the sun high in the sky, Hermione knew that it would be some time before she could go to bed, she ran a hand through her damp hair and sighed as her eyes travelled over the meadow between the camp and the castle.

The Muggle-born felt like sleeping was the only thing she wanted to do at this point. For she had not taken a Dreamless Sleep Draught last night and the nightmare had returned to her in full force. Even though Harry had been in the same room, his presence - of which she had been aware; the same awareness she had had with Luna and Fleur - had not helped against the haunting images and sensations. Unlike before, when their presence had brought Hermione some form of peace during all the horrifying illusions she was put through repeatedly. Needless to say, the little rest she had gotten had been nothing but tiring. And she felt extremely on edge ever since she had awakened at about 3 o'clock in the morning.

Hermione had occupied her time with some of Viktor's books until Harry finally awoke from his equally fitful sleep. And with one glance at her, he had known of her state of mind and nodded, "Let's get out, we can both use some exercise."

They had duelled fiercely for hours until exhaustion made continuing impossible. Hermione was grateful for Harry's no-questions-asked-attitude. She had known he would not, for he knew exactly how she felt. Harry had and still experienced enough of nightmares in his lifetime. And talking about them was often not the thing one _wanted_ to do after experiencing them, even though in most cases it could help just as much - if not more - as spending pent up frustration and energy in a battle.

And even now, after all the duelling and her long shower, Hermione still felt like slivers of the nightmare clung to her. Much like the blood of enemies and her own that still darkened the sweater and trousers she currently wore, despite the throughout washing both had gotten. How was she ever to give them back to Fleur, with all the spots on it? Then again, at this point, she wondered if she would ever again have a normal conversation with the older woman.

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. From where she stood she had a perfect view of the repairs that were currently in progress at the clearing where Voldemort had held his last speech. Soon, walls would once more stand proud and create the corridors that had been there for hundreds of years.

But that was not where Hermione's mind was, she was stuck in the speech and what had happened during and shortly after it. Nagini had slithered over and around the man, only to be sliced in half by Neville when the snake had attempted to attack. Though the Muggle-born knew this only because she had heard the story last night whilst sitting around the campfire during the storytelling. Because during that time of the battle she had been dragged inside the castle by Harry. Followed by half of all the Death Eaters and Snatchers, or so it had seemed.

Had Bellatrix been one of them, or had she stayed with her Lord?

A throb settled in the letters on her underarm and she uncrossed her arms at once. It was not painful, but the prickling was evident and she knew that any form of pressure on it _would_ make it painful. The wound had reopened - like it always did - when Harry and she had duelled this morning. And Hermione had tended to it during and after her shower, cleaning it thoroughly and putting fresh bandages over it. But it was not enough, it never would be.

For the hundred time, she wondered if she could ever get rid of it. She desperately wanted to. At this point she did not care if the word would be forever in her flesh, she just wanted the wound to heal and not be as oversensitive as it was.

Yet she doubted there to be a remedy that did not include Bellatrix' own goodwill. Something the Death Eater would have never given, had she still been alive. Not unless she could kill Hermione afterwards or give an even worse wound.

She had watched as the woman had fallen, pushed backwards by the force of the curse Molly had shot. Yet before Bellatrix' body had hit the ground it had been reduced to ashes. Through which many a person had unceremoniously walked afterwards; most, if not all, without even aware of it. One of the greatest insults to the Death Eater Hermione could think of. And it gave her no satisfaction to know that it had actually happened.

Bellatrix had acted so strangely during their confrontation, Hermione was still certain that the woman had not duelled to her full potential. Otherwise, Luna and she would have been far more battered. There was something strange about the controlled anger the Death Eater had shown and it puzzled Hermione to no end. For she had never thought Bellatrix to be one to keep check of her emotions, especially not during a fight.

Hermione looked down at the ground before her feet and put her hands in the pockets of Fleur's sweater, careful that her left underarm did not experience the slightest of pressure, whilst she scuffed the nose of her shoe in the dirt. The sand was easily disrupted and soon she had a small heap of it.

In her mind thoughts about Bellatrix' ashes mingled with her cause of death. Somehow it did not sit well with her, the death scene did not make sense. It did not fit with Bellatrix, who, proud as the woman was, would _never_ be defeated by a housewife, least of all Molly Weasley; matriarch of a family of 'blood traitors'.

Her shoulders tensed and her stomach cramped painfully as a theory formed itself in her mind. An absurd theory; one that was so blatantly obvious to anyone with knowledge about the Unforgivable Curses, it could hardly be true. The sudden fear made adrenaline rush through her system. "I am going to the castle," Hermione said out of the blue and turned around to look at Harry.

"Okay," he said unfazed, he put away the kit he had been toying with and started to get up from the table, as to accompany her.

"I want to go alone."

This made him look at her in surprise, his response came slower, "...Okay." It was obvious he was not a fan of the idea. He sat back down and looked up at her, his eyes conveyed a silent question.

The Muggle-born shrugged, she did not think that spilling her motive was a wise decision, since she had no proof, _yet_. Though she was aware that her dearest friend knew something to be amiss. Thus, in the end, she elaborated in words, "Harry, I need to be certain of its possibility first. For all I know it is a false lead."

He nodded once but said nothing and watched her intently.

She let her shoulder slump, opened her hands and showed her palms to him. Communicating that she was sorry. Then Hermione started to walk towards the castle. She had to pay attention to the pace at which she set her steps, not wanting to alert others and have their attention turn to her. Though her fear of the truth increased her desire to run. As if knowing the truth sooner rather than later would change anything.

The Muggle-born passed a lot of people, all working hard to repair and strengthen Hogwarts to its former glory and beyond. She made an effort to look no one in the eye, she did not even bother to approach people when called over. She merely raised her hand and waved, never faltering in her steps. She needed to go to the library, gather all books about the Unforgivable Curses from the Restricted Section and delve into their information.

Yet her legs made a detour, for she found herself on the same spot where she had stood when Molly had shot the Killing Curse. Her eyes searched for anything unordinary and if there were any remains of the battle that had been fought. However, she saw nothing. The Muggle-born knew she should walk closer to the spot if she truly wanted to be certain, but she could not. Something held her in place, though it was not fear. Hermione's eyes stared into oblivion, still they were glued to the spot whereupon Bellatrix' ashes had descended. The place the Death Eater had died.

Her inner focus was on the images that replayed over and over again in her mind's eye.

"Ah, Miss Granger, I have been meaning to talk to you," a Gaelic brogue lilted through normally perfected English. Hermione ripped her eyes from the patch of stones and turned them to her Professor. She instinctively knew that something must be wrong, in no normal circumstance would Minerva let her Scottish accent be this (if at all) present in her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Gràinne', pronunciation: Grawnya, is a traditional Gaelic (Irish and Scottish) name. On the internet there are different meanings and origin given to the name, though this is the one I fell for: she who inspires terror.


	10. Salvaging Destruction, part a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: heterosexual intercourse at the end of the chapter.

_"...total destruction, Hermione," gentle hands landed on her shoulders, a brogue thick in her words._

When Hermione had walked inside her sanctuary she had honestly been surprised to see that the library had changed during the time that she had been gone. Only to be struck by horror when she realized it was because the Restricted Section had been merged with the accessible part of the library. Besides the fact that it was a great indicator of what kind of dictatorship the Carrows had forced upon the students, it could possibly make it a lot harder for her to find the books she needed. Because now there was no Restricted Section to go to, the books could be anywhere.

_The words were lost to her ears, they did not register until Minerva broke the notable rule between students and Professors: no use of given names._

The library had not been in a good state when Hermione arrived, and after an hour and a half of cleaning spells it was still far from its former glory, but at least all the furniture (books included) were - mostly - dust free, all was set in its former position and she had managed to levitate the Dark Arts section (in parts) back into what always had been the Restricted Section. She knew that it was likely that there were still books from the Restricted Section between the regular curriculum, but she had no clue as to how she could find those without it being labour-intensive. It would take hours to find them, time which she would rather spend reading the books she _could_ find.

_"I am sorry, Pro- Minerva, could you repeat that?" She looked up in stormy green eyes, sadness and compassion seeped from the older woman's eyes, though Minerva's posture was still one of pride and elegance._

Through her whole life, the Muggle-born had the gift to easily get hooked by her books and forget the world around her, or, more importantly, forget the problems she could not deal with at the moment. She currently employed this tactic as well. Hours were spent in her favourite chair, with three stacks of at least half a dozen books on the side table next to her. Even she would not be able to read through all of them in one go, though if she set her mind to it she could be finished in a weeks' time, however, she would probably need more time.

_She ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes were focused on the space between their feet whilst she let the news sink in. One of Minerva's hands still caressed her upper arm comfortingly._

Regularly, when researching for an essay or something else, Hermione worked very structurally, but this was anything but regular research. This could possibly be bigger than Death. Or rather, far smaller, underhanded and yet so prominent in its deception. _That is_ if _my suspicions are not incorrect_. And not being one to go easy on herself Hermione planned to read from cover to back, with every single book in her stacks. The possibility that her suspicions were affirmed in the unlikeliest of chapters was too great a risk. Thereby came the fact that her suspicions were, frankly put, not really categorizable.

_"What does the Muggle Government tell the crowds, what is their explanation? A major gas leak?" She knew that the answer would not change how she felt, but it was important for her to know the whole story. Even if she could do nothing with the information._

First, she had to know _what happened_ to the body when it was hit by the Killing Curse. She had to know _every single possibility_. When she had figured that out she would look further into her suspicions.

_"That is indeed the case, at least, from what I have found out. For it wasn't mentioned in the article. And my source is not always correct," Minerva sounded apologetic, though an unreliable source was the last thing that would trigger annoyance in Hermione._

And if she had eliminated her rediculous-suspicion - because, surely, life and death could not be _that_ simple - Hermione would have to think about how it _had_ been made possible.

_"I need to go to the library," Hermione muttered, desperate to change the subject. Her eyes back to look Minerva in the eyes._

It was not until Hermione heard the great doors open and close that she dragged her eyes away from the pages of the book in her hands. Someone had joined her in the library and they made very little sound. Hermione memorized the page she was on and placed the book upon the side table without making any sound and, with her wand drawn, she stood up and slunk back into the shadows of a bookcase.

_The Professor nodded and the ghost of a sad smile adorned her face, "Of course, come find me if you need assistance in finding certain books."_

Footsteps neared and, before long, a very familiar person rounded the corner.

From her place in the shadows, Hermione asked, whilst her wand was pointed towards the person, "What happened after you promised me you would show me the Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest?"

The addressed person turned to face Hermione, whilst she answered without hesitation, "I never made that promise to you, however, you _did_ ask me to show them to you once you would have been confronted by Death."

Hermione nodded, the answer was correct. She emerged from the shadows, sheeted her wand and walked towards the other to wrap her into a quick hug.

When they embraced each other, she said in a dry tone, "Now it is your turn to ask me a question to confirm my true identity, Luna."

She felt the Ravenclaw shake her head and then take a step backwards. Luna showed a smile as she spoke, "I have no need for that, the trail you leave behind is all I need."

Luna's response made the Gryffindor chuckle before she asked, "Am I really that hopeless?"

"Hopeless? Yes, we established that after the Battle, didn't we? Perhaps we could give names to the Wrackspurts. What do you think about Scribble, Scuttle or Munllec?"

Hermione hummed in a noncommittal way and opted to change the subject, "How is Xenophilius? And what about your house? Is it still in need of repair?"

"My father is doing alright. However, his mind is elsewhere, somewhere I can't follow. So it is alright for me to wander. I like helping here." Luna righted some books on the shelves, as her fingers glided gently over the spines.

"And your house?" Hermione repeated her question, she took a step closer and rested her hand comfortingly on Luna's arm.

"It is there, but not quite," the Ravenclaw did not look at her friend, her eyes wandered over letters on the spines of books instead.

The Muggle-born thought she understood what was bothering her friend, but she wanted to be sure. "The walls are still standing, but there has happened too much in-between them to feel like home anymore?"

"Yes and no," Luna nodded and began to walk through the library.

The older woman waited for Luna to elaborate whilst she followed the Ravenclaw through the library. Yet after a few minutes had passed, she suspected Luna would not say anything on the matter if she would not push further. "What do you mean?"

"Don't worry, Hermione, we will get there."

"But I do worry."

"I know." Earnest eyes met hers for a few seconds, then they continued their path through the labyrinth of bookcases.

"I was actually planning to visit you today," Hermione chose to say at last. The silence was good, but once in awhile it could carry too many unspoken words and it would feel like they wanted to suffocate her.

"Oh, if that is the case I can go back to my house and let you in when you knock on the door?" Luna said in all seriousness and started for the grand doors.

Luna's silliness broke through Hermione's worried expression and made her realize her own stubbornness; not letting go of her worries when her friend explicitly told her to do so, even if it was only for a little while. An embarrassed look came upon her.

From the corner of her eyes, Luna saw that she had achieved what she had wanted and made a beeline to the reading corner Hermione had vacated earlier.

They had spent many hours of their friendship in this part of the library during their years at Hogwarts. In the few weeks before Luna was abducted she had often gone here to study alone, often because she had missed or been worried about her current companion.

As she sat down the Muggle-born pulled her legs underneath herself and watched the younger one take a seat in the armchair beside hers. "I hope you don't mind if I return to my reading? I really want to get through these books as soon as possible."

Luna turned in her seat so she could look straight at her. Hermione looked exhausted, she had dark circles underneath her eyes, there was barely any colour on her cheeks and the bloody clothes (which they still were despite the fact that they had obviously been washed, thoroughly) made her look savage. The Ravenclaw shook her head, "Go ahead, I will find something to read myself."

Luna's eyes followed Hermione's hand as she picked up the book which she had discarded earlier. Upon seeing the titles on the spines of the other books, the Ravenclaw inquired, "Do you hope to find a cure for the curse on your underarm?"

The Muggle-born shook her head, eyes still on the pages. "Not necessarily, no. Though if I would, I certainly wouldn't complain."

"You don't want to tell me about your research?" Luna asked to be certain of her suspicions.

"Correct, as long as I am not sure of my theory, there is no need to worry others."

"Even though I could help you with reading through these books?"

"Even so, yes."

Luna nodded and did not press any further. She studied her friend for a little while longer before she closed her eyes and settled her head against the backrest. Instead of searching or summoning a book to read, a tune bubbled up from inside and she started to hum and sing, not unaware of the effect it could have on Hermione. Her song was one about suffering and uncertainty. The melody was not a happy one, it was slow, a caress before a poisonous scratch.

* * *

When the clock from the castle's clocktower pealed seven times Luna looked up from her book and directed her eyes to her companion. "Do you think the Elves would be willing to make us some dinner if we asked them very nicely?"

Hermione's ears perked up at the sound of food, she was hungry but, in all honesty, had not noticed until now. The idea of going to camp to mingle with so many people again in order to get something to eat was so unappealing that Hermione caved. She nodded and put a bookmarker between the pages before she gathered all the books, several at a time, and put them neatly in her shoulder bag, which had laid on the ground by her feet all this time.

This was obviously against the rules, more so since these were all books from the Restricted Section, but Hermione doubted anyone would miss them. And there was no Madam Pince to scold her. Thereby came the fact that she was confident in her ability to keep the books from getting damaged. Yet, despite these facts, she knew she should not, that this was not what a proper student - a former Prefect, no less! - would do. There were so many things that could go wrong; someone could steal the books, she could lose her bag, her bag could be set on fire (on purpose or by accident), and too many other worst-case scenarios raced through her head.

Instead of listening to these thoughts, however, Hermione continued with her packing. When she was done and looked over at Luna she was surprised to see the younger woman was gone. "Luna?" A note of fear coloured her voice.

"I am here," sounded from the far end of the library. With no other living soul in the library, they did not even have to raise their voices to be heard by one another.

Hermione shouldered her bag and turned towards the direction from which the sound had come. The constricted feeling of her bowels lessened the moment she saw the younger one's reassuring smile. Luna had taken to wait for her by the doors. _I should not have let panic taken hold of me that easily_ , Hermione berated herself mentally.

* * *

Hermione laughed good-naturedly as Luna tried to explain the existence of an uncommon creature that resides in kitchens to some of the House-Elves, who looked full of wonderment and confusion at the information. One started to look in all kinds of places throughout the kitchen, soon joined by several others, another few looked extremely uncomfortable (Hermione suspected that they did not believe a word Luna said, but their centuries-old indoctrination kept them from arguing the point) and all the rest of the Elves who had listened did not really know what to think about it. None of them had ever seen such creatures 'Missus Lovegood' had just described after all.

It was close to midnight when Hermione brought Luna to the gates of Hogwarts, "Are you certain that you don't want to stay? I would like to spend more time with you."

"I would like that too," Luna smiled as she conceded this.

"Yet you are going home," the older one mumbled, not really surprised.

"Of course, we all have our parts to play."

Hermione nodded, "Will you come by tomorrow? Or shall I come to you, Harry will want to come along as well, if you are comfortable with that?"

"Perhaps the presence of Munllec will give some entertainment for my father," Luna smiled and looked above Hermione's head.

That settled it, Hermione would visit Luna tomorrow, with Harry in tow.

They embraced and wished each other a good night. The Muggle-born watched as Luna Disapparated.

In her Animagus form, she trotted over the path in the direction of the camp. She had no haste, knowing that Harry and Viktor did not worry. Luna had sent them her Patronus every few hours to let them know they were alright. Though Hermione wondered what Viktor's reaction had been to, "When you get to the point that silence can say more, why not go mute through life? At least books have never spoken to us, they _tell_ ," or "A pear and other fruit in a bowl is actually quite a giveaway, don't you think?". Harry had likely needed to explain the latter was a description of the painting that led to Hogwarts' kitchen.

A sudden realisation made her halt in her movement. Not a single moment that day had she thought of the letter she had to send Kingsley regarding Gringotts. For a moment she wanted to hit her own head against a tree, but instead, she turned the sudden burst of frustration into fuel for herself to speed up. With the Owlery as her destination, she sprinted through the forest and over the meadows, uncaring if students saw flashes of her red coat. They would not know any better, for all they knew she was just a normal (if a somewhat fearless) fox. The only person she had to avoid was Minerva, who had likely already her suspicions on the subject. Hermione was not foolish enough to think that she could delude Professor McGonagall.

* * *

Slightly out of breath she started to write on the parchment she had gotten from out of her shoulder bag. Using the stone wall as underground. Above her hoots, screeches and whistles filled the air. Some of the birds had been shocked and scared by the arrival of a fox, those had fled to the upper nesting places and perches. Others had been drawn by their curiosity and had watched her transform back into her human form with unblinking eyes, of which some sat with their heads turned 180 degrees in order to watch her. Even as she wrote she was seemingly entertaining enough for them. But most did not bother one way or another, they were smart enough to know that normal foxes had no ways of coming into the tower and were bored (or annoyed) by the students dashing around the place.

When she was done and the letter was sealed, Hermione looked upwards towards the birds and cleared her throat. "Good evening, I was hoping that the fastest of you could bring this letter to the current Minister of Magic? It is quite important."

At first, none of the birds seemed to stir. Though as she waited expectantly her patience was rewarded with the sound of some rustled wings. A soft screech and wingbeats were heard before a slender falcon landed on one of the lowest perches. Its impatience already visible.

"Thank you," she murmured and tied the letter to its outstretched paw. "Come to my tent when you have returned from your delivery, I will make sure I have something tasty for you."

The falcon did not bother to answer verbally, instead, it focussed on a fast exit. Something the Muggle-born appreciated. She hummed as she put the quill and ink bottle back in her bag.

She had not realized it at first, but the other birds had fallen completely silent and stared accusingly at her. _If only they had known of the treat in the first place._

Hermione looked back at them in bewilderment, not truly understanding their intentions. For she still had difficulty understanding other species of animals. It made her wonder how Sirius had been able to communicate with Crookshanks so easily. A least that was how Sirius had made it sound like, the language had felt like second nature to him. If only she could have asked him the questions that bugged her when he had still been alive... If only he was not dead. The world could, possibly, be so different. Harry would still have his godfather for one. If only Bel -

_No, don't go there_. She instructed herself harshly. With a shake of her head and a frown on her face, she transformed back into her vixen form. Scaring some of the birds once more. The vixen chirped apologetically, with her ears flat in her neck and then made her way into the night once more. Now truly on her way to Harry and Viktor.

* * *

The next morning Hermione was the first in their tent to awaken, the early sun rays were still shy in their battle with the murky rainclouds from the night.

Just before she had arrived back at camp last night the clouds had cracked open. The rain had gushed down and completely drenched her and nature around her.

She opened the front flap to enable the crisp morning air to fill the tent's living room. And stayed in the opening for a few moments to watch other campers walk around. A lot were preparing meals, others created sitting areas, and most of them looked like sleep still muddled their brains.

Despite having slept only a few hours and feeling the tiredness in her body Hermione hummed softly to herself, one of her favourite 'Luna melodies'. Meanwhile, she busied herself with the preparation of breakfast. She had purposely let the door to their sleeping area stay open, hoping that the scent of fresh coffee would waft through the air and into the bedroom. Surely it would only be a little while now before her two men would awaken.

Instead of putting the plates and cutlery on the regular table Hermione felt that she wanted something different, just like the campers that set up the sitting areas outside. But she had no intention to eat breakfast outside. Thus, she opted to transfigure the side table near the fireplace into a Kotatsu. The round Japanese table was easily big enough for the three of them. And the heather under the tabletop would keep their feet and legs warm, the blanket trapping the heat successfully. The air from outside was a bit chilly, so they would all appreciate the warmth. She transfigured the couch and the remaining chairs into comfortable sitting cushions.

All that was left for her to do was wait for the other two to join her. She grabbed her shoulder bag, sat down by one of the plates and unpacked some of the books she had taken from the library. And while she read and waited, charms would keep the coffee, toast and omelettes warm and fresh.

Footsteps in the bedroom and the sound of running water were the first tell-tale signs that someone else had awakened.

Not long after that Viktor walked in, a wet towel in his hand. Though his hair was still damp and therefore heavy enough to fall in his eyes. It reached over his ears and was near his shoulders, with a soft wave giving it a liveliness. He must have let it grown since Fleur and William's wedding about a year ago. Hermione had always thought short hair suited him, but that was because she had not known him with a different haircut. However, if she was honest she liked this even better. And it made her wonder how shoulder-length hair would look on him, or even longer hair.

Upon entering the living room his eyes went to the regular table. He smiled at her as he noticed Hermione was near the fireplace instead and was unabashedly observing him. _"Good morning, my girl."_

Jitters stirred alive in her system as she watched him. She returned his smile and said softly, _"I like your long hair, I didn't even know you had a wave in it."_ The book on top of her plate lay completely forgotten, for the moment at least.

He walked over to her, leaned down and kissed her, _"Thank you."_ Then he walked to the front flap and outside, to hang his towel over one of the strings that were used to keep the tent standing. Once back inside he sat down beside her. And told her the story that accompanied the change of length.

_"To be honest, I wasn't really aware of the length it was becoming over the last few months until my mother pointed it out one evening I came over. She didn't like it, said I should let her cut it. And I would have let her had I not looked into the mirror behind her and liked what I saw."_ He had scooted closer to her as he told of his experience, one arm wrapped around her lower back. The sides of their bodies touched. With his free hand, he tucked some curls behind her ear. It enabled him a clear few of the profile of her face. And he planted a few butterfly kisses on the skin of her cheek. His hand searched for hers then, and when he had found it they entwined their fingers.

Hermione had closed her eyes as she had listened, whilst she revelled in all the physical attention. It had been so long since they had had time for just the two of them. With no one around so they did not have to think about the affection they displayed.

She leaned sideways against his body, until she turned her head and body to enable their lips to meet. Electricity hit her core when their tongues touched for the first time since they had been reunited. Her free hand landed on his chest and travelled upwards, from his neck into his hair. She liked the feel of his long hair as much as she liked the view. Though her fingers did not still, for they constantly moved over his scalp. In the way she knew how he liked it.

Several minutes passed wherein they both just touched, kissed and enjoyed each other. Before the Muggle-born finally parted their lips long enough to give a verbal response. _"How is your mother doing, is her Artistes stable? Have the potions helped?"_ She could not look into his eyes for long though, for his desire was clearly visible and only spurred hers on. Something they could not act on since Harry (and the rest of the camp) could walk in on them any given moment. A blush settled in her cheeks as she looked with sudden interest at the cutlery on the surface of the Kotatsu. During which she saw, from her peripheral view, how a knowing smile spread over his lips.

He planted a lingering kiss on her earlobe, the soft flesh underneath his lips grew warmer every second. Though when he - finally - answered her he had grown serious once more, _"She is alright for now. The potions help against the pains, but she is stubborn and only takes them when she can't function otherwise. And I have given up on trying to talk sense into her. I don't want to argue with her."_

Hermione looked him in the eyes, her sympathy clear in her features. Then she planted a chaste kiss on his lips and he let a deep contented sigh escape him. She knew that Viktor always tried to avoid conflict with his parents, he had seen and experienced what it could destroy. _"And what about your father?"_

Viktor shook his head, a puzzled expression on his face, _"He has never tried to tell her what to do and won't start now. It's almost as if he doesn't care."_

_"You know that is not true,"_ Hermione mumbled and untangled her hand from his hair to cup his cheek. She felt the stubble underneath her palm and fingers. It scratched and tickled, but she was not bothered by it.

He did not respond verbally, he closed his eyes and just nodded.

They were silent for some time. Hermione observed her lover's features. He was still in good health, though there were dark circles under his eyes and yet nothing else gave away any of his possible tiredness. When he opened his eyes and focus returned to his features, he looked over to the opened front flap for no apparent reason. _"I am considering to talk to them about selling the house and moving to a more convenient settlement."_

Hermione nodded, though she frowned slightly as she said, _"I doubt your father will appreciate the idea."_

_"I know, it will anger him. But maybe if I bring the possibility up now it will be easier by the time they will have no other choice."_

_"That is a good argument, I suppose."_ Hermione mused over the idea, her fingers fidgeting with the hairs in Viktor's neck again. All the while a few fond memories of the family surfaced as well and she continued with the ghost of a smile on her lips, _"Your mother would probably see it more like a new opportunity, to meet new people and experience new places."_

_"Yeah, I am also hoping that she can get through his thick skull, her enthusiasm has always tickled him to reconsider."_

_"The decorating of the new house would be another aspect which would make her enthusiastic about the idea."_

_"And that would be among the things that would drive my father crazy."_

It was a combination of Viktor's tone of voice and the painful honesty of his words that made Hermione laugh out loud as she nodded her agreement.

"What is this?" Harry was smiling as he walked into the living room, "Having fun without me?"

"I can't help it, I am just hilarious," Viktor deadpanned and then smiled fondly at the young woman in his arms; his woman.

Hermione rolled her eyes and playfully swatted him on his chest, then she focussed her eyes on her friend, "Good morning. Now, sit down, breakfast is ready and I have been waiting for you two _for ages_."

Viktor put some distance between them, they were always mindful to keep the display of their affection civilized when others were around. Their legs, however, were contently tangled underneath the table.

The conversation was easy and light-hearted. They discussed their day's schedule and decided that all three would help for several hours with the repairs and tasks in and around the castle. But first Harry and Hermione wanted to make a visit to Hagrid, and later that day they would go to Luna, maybe stay there for dinner and return at some point before nightfall.

It was when Harry and Hermione discussed what they should take with them for Hagrid and Luna (for they wanted to give them both a heartening present), when Fleur entered their tent. Her features were calm, though controlled, and Hermione thought the quarter-Veela's smile missed its usual ease.

Fleur wished them all a good morning before she focussed her attention on Viktor and asked if he could join the gathering for the leaders of the camps.

"Vhy have ve another gathering? There vas one yesterday," a frown was on his face, he did not like the prospect of complications, which could be the only reason why there was yet another meeting.

"I don't know, Viktor," Fleur sighed tiredly, "I 'ave been awake for only 'alf an 'our, I 'aven't even eaten anything yet. And they didn't elaborate when I was awakened." The French woman glared at something outside the tent. She ran a hand through her hair in a frustrated manner as she messed with, tussled it this and that way.

Hermione sympathized and summoned a mug from the small kitchenette and let her magic pour coffee in it from the thermos can. Whilst she picked two slices of toast from out of the basket on the table, put it on her plate and smeared some peanut butter on it. A few slices of cucumber on the side and a handful of cherry tomatoes brought some healthy colours to the palette. The omelettes were unfortunately already eaten.

With a swish of her hand, she sent the mug and her plate towards the quarter-Veela, who was still in a conversation with Viktor. Until her blue eyes fell upon the food that hovered towards her.

Hermione started to explain, "Hope this will help you through the ordeal, at least until you have something decent to eat. That is if you still want to eat or would you rath-" Harry's hand on hers made her halt in her ramblings.

She snapped her mouth shut and glanced at him, then her eyes went back to Fleur, who had taken the plate and mug in her hands. Before she took her first sip she heaved the mug a little higher in a silent cheer, accompanied by another uneasy smile. Or was Hermione projecting her own feelings on the quarter-Veela? She was not sure.

After her first few sips, Fleur turned back to Viktor, "Can you be in the main tent in 10 minutes?"

Viktor nodded, "I vill. Has Olivier been informed already?"

"I believe so, yes, 'Endric went to 'im. See you een a few minutes," the quarter-Veela nodded her goodbye to the three of them and disappeared with her impromptu breakfast.

Hermione kept her features neutral as she watched Fleur go. Though uncertainties circled through her mind. Had she done well by preparing something for the older woman, or did she only aggravate Fleur with her behaviour?

This had been the first time the Muggle-born had seen more than a mere glimpse of her in camp since the day of the battle. Despite the fact that Fleur stayed in and worked for the French part of the camp, or so she had heard from Harry (who had bumped into her several times).

Why did their interaction have to be so terse, what had caused this sudden dysfunction in their friendship? She knew the moment it had started, but it was still unclear to her what precisely had triggered it.

Pondering about it was not a good idea in the company of others, thus she tried to ignore the recurring mental questions and instead listened to what her men were talking about.

"... shouldn't be long," Viktor had gone to the bedroom to get his jacket and was putting it on.

"Okay, then we will see you in the castle once you are done with being important." Harry joked lamely, garnering a grin of mock-arrogance from Viktor and a raised eyebrow from Hermione, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

Then the Bulgarian crouched down next to Hermione. He cupped her face with his hands, a soft smile played on his lips, _"I missed you. And thank you for breakfast."_ He leaned forward and they shared a chaste kiss before he stood straight and made his way to the main tent.

The moment Viktor was gone Harry's focus was solely on Hermione, he had no desire to wait for the right moment any longer. He raised his eyebrows in expectation as his eyes pinned her down. And he waited.

Hermione fidgeted with the rim of her - Fleur's - sweater and shrugged, "I don't know, Harry."

He shook his head, "I doubt that, if one of us always has her own hypothesises, theories or suspicions it is you."

"Can we let this go for now?" She minutely considered to pout, though decided it beneath her.

"No," he was resolute, "What has happened between you two? Since the day we departed from Shell Cottage you have acted like complete strangers to one another. Even though in the days previous to that you seemed to grow closer with each passing hour spent in each other's company."

She sighed heavily and her shoulders sagged in defeat, "To be honest, I don't truly know what went wrong."

"Tell me your musings anyway."

For a while, there was only silence between them, during which they banished the cutlery and plates, baskets and leftover food into the basin and on the counter of the kitchenette.

She glanced at her friend, he was still waiting for her to spill the beans. His posture was relaxed as he leaned back on his hands. His facial features were soft, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. Naturally, he was aware she was stalling the conversation and he let her.

Another sigh, this one smaller. Then she transfigured the Kotatsu back to being a side table and made the tent flap close with a flick of her wrist. She stood up and motioned for Harry to do the same so that she could undo the transfigurations on the couch and chairs as well. Then they both sat down on the couch. One in each corner and turned towards one another.

Hermione ran her hand through her hair and opted to wear it in a braid for the rest of the day. And whilst her hands worked she finally cracked, everything that had happened in the garden of Shell Cottage, every detail she could remember, fell from her lips. From the moment she walked with Fleur outside with their breakfasts in hand, their conversation subjects and particular comments, till the moment Hermione had gone back inside after Fleur had alarmed her with the sudden stiffening of her posture.

When she had told him all that there was to know she looked at him expectantly. He looked deep in thought. He had the Golden Snitch in his hands and toyed mindlessly with it, a frown on his face.

"Maybe..." he started hesitantly, "she thought you meant it in a different way?"

Hermione raised one questioning eyebrow and tilted her head ever so slightly, "What do you me-" Her eyes widened as apprehension dawned on her. A blush followed suit. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. Thus, she closed it, cleared her throat and tried again, "But surely... She knows... Harry, I didn't mean it that way." Her voice was a mere whisper at the end.

Suddenly their conversation had great potential to turn awkward, though neither of them felt that way. True, the subject was one they did not discuss often, if at all. Homosexuality was, after all, uncommon in wizarding society. Or at least not openly admitted and discussed. But Harry and she had gone through too much together to be bothered or ashamed in each other company. Besides, there was not anything to be bothered with since neither of them fell under the 'label'.

_And even if one of us did, it would not matter,_ Hermione reminded herself. A memory from her mother sprung to life before her mind's eyes; telling her that love could come in all kinds of forms after a 6-year-old Hermione had asked why a boy in her class had two fathers instead of the common combination of a woman and man.

Thinking about it made Hermione wonder, for the first time, what homosexuality meant in wizarding society _. Is it a taboo? Surely not... Right?_

Harry's words broke through her inner musings, "I know, you were just fooling around." He tossed the Snitch towards her with a lopsided smile, "And besides, she is married and you have Viktor."

Hermione caught it and held the golden object before her eyes. As she studied the scratches on its surface she asked, "What should I do?"

"Talk to her, explain yourself." He made it sound so simple.

The young woman shook her head and said dryly, "Preferably without having to say it specifically, if you don't mind." She tossed the Snitch back to him.

He caught it one-handedly, let a sigh leave his body and looked her straight in the eyes. "Hermione, I doubt you could make your intentions obvious without specifically saying anything about it."

"That is because you aren't as subtle as I can be."

"Or you should just say it plain and simple, to forgo the trouble of creating more misconceptions."

The Muggle-born slumped in her corner of the couch for a moment, looked up at the ceiling of the tent and took a deep breath. _What have I gotten myself into?_ She had just been fooling around, nothing more.

The cushions of the couch dipped further before they returned to their regular form. She watched Harry stand and stretch. "Let's go to Hagrid and then to Hogwarts, shall we?"

"Yes, I will send a quick letter to Luna to say that we will be there at 3 pm."

Harry held out his hand to her to help her stand up, she took it. They cleaned everything in the kitchenette, put on their shoes, as well as their coats and Harry put his pouch around his neck as Hermione took her shoulder bag with her. It would not feel good to leave without their bags. When they exited the tent, Harry laid his arm over her shoulders and she wrapped her arm around his middle. Like this, they made their way to Hagrid. Their presents for the half-Giant and Luna would come another day.

Their day went as they had planned; they stayed for two hours to talk with Hagrid, thereafter worked themselves into a sweat to help with the repairs in the castle and made a few minutes before 3 pm their way towards the Apparation point, outside Hogwarts' gate. To which they playfully raced in their Animagus forms once they were out of sight.

Hermione loved to be with both Harry and Luna at the same time. Not that surprising considering that they were her two dearest friends. When they were together, just the three of them, no one was the third wheel.

Something Harry and Hermione could no longer say about the so-called 'Golden Trio', a name Hermione had never thought fit them. For during the first few years Hermione had repeatedly been in harsh arguments with Ron, during their third year she had even been a true scapegoat. Afterwards, Harry and Hermione's bond had been mended, but with Ron, the old arguments had just been renewed. Resulting in an off-balance friendship.

In other words, there had never been an equal friendship between them.

Luna, on the other hand, fit in perfectly well with Harry and Hermione. She could effortlessly mingle with the silly banter, serious discussions and comfortable silences. And, above all, she was utterly accepting of Harry and Hermione and how they functioned together.

A game of chess started between Harry and Luna during their conversation and, at some point, Hermione got one of her books out of her bag and read contently beside them. Looking up from her pages so now and then to comment on the game or give her own opinion about something that her friends talked about.

The three of them made dinner, enjoyed the meal with easy chatter between the teenagers and Xenophilius and cleaned the table and dishes afterwards. It became clear to Hermione what had bothered Luna about her home, for her father's antics and comments could be quite strange. More so than before the war. And she wondered what had triggered this change in behaviour from the man. The most obvious answer was Luna's abduction, but she wondered if there was more to it.

It was an hour after dinner when Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes to the Lovegood family. They made promises to visit soon and Luna would come to Hogwarts the following day again.

The duo did not Apparate right away, they decided to take a short walk in the countryside surrounding Luna's house before they would head back to camp. It was already dark, even though it was not that late in the evening. The Muggle-born conjured a Lumos and adjusted the strength of its glow. It hovered a constant metre ahead of them.

They did not speak nor hum, instead, they enjoyed the sounds of nature. The wind rustled through the branches and leaves of the trees that sporadically stood beside the path, crickets chirped in the long grass, an owl's hoot came from somewhere nearby and several crows cawed as they flew overhead.

A considerable time later the lights of a house became visible in the distance. It was a farmer's house. And it reminded Harry that several hills further ahead the Burrow would be standing in all its glory. An idea hit him and he cleared his throat to garner Hermione's attention. He halted and looked at her.

"I was thinking," he began, "I would like to stay with the Weasleys for a bit."

Hermione frowned but nodded. It was quite sudden but she could not say she was surprised since they were not that far away from them.

"Tonight," Harry added.

Now her eyes did widen in surprise, she had thought he meant somewhere this week, not right this moment.

"Why this sudden need?" She asked and wondered if Harry felt alright. Had it something to do with Ginny? Or was it a desire to be with the family and be of help during the first few days of their loss?

Suddenly Harry could no longer look her in the eyes, a blush appeared in his neck and he ran a hand through his hair. Then he mumbled, "because I want to give the two of you some space."

_The 'two of us', what doe-_

Her eyes widened even further in understanding. She did not know what to say and she felt herself beginning to blush as well. But just when it started to feel even for the tiniest bit awkward the Muggle-born became deadly serious, "You know that you do not have to do that, right? I want you around."

"I know, Hermione. And I promise that it doesn't feel like you don't want me there. But after seeing you two this morning, I think you need it more than you realize." Harry smiled sheepishly through the nervousness.

He could be so blunt, but later Hermione would acknowledge to herself that he had been right.

* * *

Butterflies jittered in her stomach as she approached their tent. The front flap was closed but she knew from the light inside that Viktor was in the living room. As she stood at the front she took several deep breaths to calm her nerves, it did not help at all.

When she entered, her eyes had to adjust to the light, but soon she saw that Viktor sat reading near the fireplace. The sound of the tent flap closing caused him to look up. A smile instantly lit up his face, "Velcome back, Hermione, did you have a good time vith Luna?"

_"Yes, it was really nice, I have to pass you a hello from her. Also, she won two times at chess today from Harry. And Xenophilius is thinking about publishing an article about the camp."_ As she told this she took her wand from its holster on her arm and put up the usual wards.

_"That is nice,"_ he said distractedly as he watched her in confusion, _"but you are warding the tent. Isn't Harry coming shortly?"_

With a shy smile on her lips and mischief in her eyes she turned and looked at him, _"He is staying with the Weasleys for tonight."_

Viktor raised his eyebrows but did not say nor do anything else. He just watched her. And she, in return, made herself worth to be watched.

The Muggle-born did not avert her eyes from her lover for a single second as she holstered her wand once more and carefully dropped her shoulder bag on the floor to her right. Hermione opened her coat and let it fall down from her shoulders and arms, it pooled at her feet. Fleur's sweater was unceremoniously pulled over her head and draped over her bag.

And now the fun could begin. The shy smile returned to her lips before she bit on her lower lip. With each slow step she took towards him she undid a button from the white blouse she wore, another piece of clothing from Fleur.

The Bulgarian watched, intrigued; spellbound. His facial features serious, his eyes though burned with desire as they followed her every move. He leaned forward to put his book on the coffee table that stood between the couch and the chair. Then he leaned back again, though he knew not what to do with his hands, they were restless. Until his woman stood before him.

Viktor's hands gently ran up her thighs and rested on her waist. Their eyes met as he looked up at her. He ignored the exposed skin of her stomach with both his hands and eyes, for now. It enticed him, naturally, yet he wanted more of a 'flow' between them - a sexual tension - before he would indulge himself.

Hermione felt the warmth spread from his hands through her body. A fond smile spread over her lips as she saw him deliberately not looking at, nor touching, her exposed skin. _Ever the gentleman_. She reached out for his face, with her fingers from one hand she stroked his cheek and jaw, whilst she ran the other through his dark, wavy hair. She felt him pull her gently towards him, his hands were her guides. And soon she sat in his lap, straddling him.

Their kiss started gentle, but once Hermione parted her lips to nibble on Viktor's lower lip she felt his whole body react. His muscles tensed as he wrapped his arms around her and firmly grabbed her ass. A moment later she was hoisted up.

After all their time apart, these kinds of touches almost felt foreign to Hermione. It had been so long since Viktor had touched her like this, with his desire so plainly visible in his features. It made her breathless.

As Viktor walked with her in his arms, Hermione hummed and affectionately murmured against his lips, "Show-off."

He grinned but said nothing, instead he concentrated on setting her down on his bed carefully. Her arms stayed around his neck, which forced him to go down with her. Together they laid comfortably in the bed. And for a second they merely enjoyed the situation and the feeling of how the tension between them charged the air around them. Viktor ran the fingers of one of his hands through her hair, only to get stuck where her braid started. With a gentle touch, he undid her braid, whilst his lips never strayed long from hers.

Hermione chuckled though was currently concentrating on largening the bed, it always was exciting to feel her magic work underneath her. However, her attention was straying in its focus as the hands of her lover began to touch her more ardently, she felt how they set her skin alight when he had - _finally_ \- let them slip underneath her clothing she lost complete control over the spell and it halted abruptly.

She arched her back and into his touch as it travelled upward. A gasp was drawn from her when his hand cupped her breast through the cloth of her bra. With one hand in his neck, she brought her lips to his and with the other, she began the challenge to undo him from all his clothes one-handedly and without magic. She _loved_ a challenge.

* * *

"ARG!" The scream was one of pure disbelieve. An onslaught of magic crashed against the immovable platform, it cast coloured shadows. Some actually left a mark on the surface, which made thunder echo from behind the doors; yet, they still would not budge.

Denial for her Lord's absence was heavy in her thoughts. _The fight is still going on. My Lord could be triumphing over that little bastard this very moment,_ the woman reasoned with herself. She could not acknowledge the likely possibility that she had been out cold for more than a day, let alone ponder about the prospect that her Lord may have been defeated.

Bellatrix screamed once more at the doors when her last spell's energy dissolved into slivers of dying light. The sound echoed through the tunnels into the far distances wherever they may lead. When no spells were cast there was complete darkness and silence. Except for the sound of her own heartbeat which echoed through her ears, and the sound of her breathing. She denied that the sobs were her own.

* * *

Hermione's eyes shot open, for a few moments her lungs were constricted, unable to take in any oxygen. Then instinct kicked in and she gulped in air. Meanwhile, her eyes got accustomed to the darkness. Beside her Viktor was still in a deep sleep, his slow breaths caressed her naked skin.

The Muggle-born blinked several times and looked into the darkness again. It felt as if tendrils of a heavy and dark aura still clung to her mind's subconscious, but no matter how she concentrated, there was nothing she could remember of her dream. Yet, somehow, she knew it had been different from her usual nightmare.

For a little while, Hermione was unaware of the fact that she was covered in a cold sweat, that her heart hammered against her ribcage with a worrying speed and that panic was at the edges of her consciousness. But as her mind cleared from whatever had clung to it, certain thoughts started to invade her mind.

_Harry... Harry is in danger._ Hermione sat up at once, her movement so sudden and uncontrolled that it stirred Viktor awake. He reached out for her, one of his hands found her waist and, with the other, he pushed himself up.

Her eyes were wide in fear, but she did not move any further, awareness of her own ridiculous thoughts growing. How could she be as certain as she was, even though she had no proof at all?

As Viktor sat up he blinked the sleep from his eyes and asked her what troubled her. Since he heard no tell-tale signs of an invasion from outside.

The Muggle-born did not respond verbally, instead, she sought out his warmth and nestled her body against his. In the hope that it would help her calm her thoughts and the panic that was trying to get to her.

He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her hair. Viktor closed his eyes in contentedness and rested his head with his cheek on her hair and repeated his question softly. There was no harshness to his voice, his sleepy patience was soothing to her prickled mind.

At last her response came in a whisper, "Harry... for a moment I was certain that he is in danger."

This clearly alarmed Viktor, for his relaxed body stiffened with tension. He lifted his head and leaned back to look her in the eyes, the fear he saw did not calm him. One of his arms left her waist and grabbed the blanket to throw it aside. "Let's go to the Burrow," he said and made to get out of the bed, "then ve can make sure everything is alright."

Hermione grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving, "No, no, I am being foolish, there is nothing to worry about, he is just staying at the Burrow. We will see him in a few hours again."

She shook her head to emphasize her statement when her lover looked back at her.

Viktor frowned, "Yes, but ve should go and make certain of it." Again, he wanted to move out of the bed, but Hermione moved faster. Her lips were pressed against his. When she planted a second kiss on his lips she parted hers to trace with the tip of her tongue over his upper lip. Though before he could respond to it she broke the contact between them because she wanted to make her intentions clear.

"Let's stay here, Viktor," she whispered and took her place in his lap, straddling him just like the night before. The blanket fell away from her body. "I _need_ to make love to you some more. It will take my mind off of the matter." She said the last words in a matter-of-fact manner as if she was telling him the answer to a difficult equation.

It made a grin break through his serious expression, yet conflicted thoughts were evident in his manner as well.

This time Viktor initiated the kiss, he leaned forward and she welcomed him eagerly. She held his jaw and cheeks, her fingers gentle on his skin and stubble. Hermione inhaled deeply, enjoyed the luxury feeling of his lips and then parted again to exhale slowly out of her mouth. Though as she did this she pressed her torso closer to his. Not completely against, but enough so that her nipples brushed against his chest. The friction made her breath hitch and her nipples hardened as the movement continued.

With more urgency than before the kiss was renewed. During which Viktor's fingertips began to dance over her spine, whilst his other hand travelled downwards to her thigh and caressed the skin from there to her ass and back again. The feel of his calloused fingers and palm on her skin made goosebumps appear and she moaned at the sensation. A delighted shudder went through her body and to her core, and she felt how her womanhood began to throb in answer.

Yet, despite their current excitement, Viktor started to murmur against her lips. She knew he wanted to convince her that they should make a visit, but she would jeopardize that plan. Because she could _not_ give in to her fears. She had realized by now that this was not a normal fear, she knew this had to be a scar from the war. One would call it an unhealthy fear for Harry's wellbeing or even an obsession, another would call it PTSD. Hermione currently did not care to give it a name, all she knew was that she would not give in to it and that she had to distract herself.

Once more she parted her lips and slipped her tongue out between them to entice her lover. Meanwhile, she trailed a hand downwards; from his neck, over his chest and stomach and further down. He moaned against her lips as she played with his pubic hair for a bit, his manhood responded immediately.

He broke the kiss the moment she touched him to pant out her name, "Herm-one-ninny." His Bulgarian accent was heavy on the syllables.

She nuzzled his throat and planted a trail of kisses from just underneath his ear to his collarbone. His grip on her tightened whilst he turned his head to give her easier access. Meanwhile, her ministrations never halted, there was no hesitation.

She started slow, with a touch that bordered on featherlight. She wanted to drag out his orgasm, make him forget her behaviour from earlier. And she knew his weaknesses, that which could have him writhing underneath her touch for a long time.

Viktor laid back, he was not capable to stay in a sitting position with this torturously slow pace. He closed his eyes for a moment when he laid his head down on the mattress. He grabbed hold on to whatever he could get a grip on, which were the sheets. A groan escaped him whilst he tried to thrust his hips into Hermione's touch, but she still straddled him so it was to no avail.

With the hand that was not busy yet Hermione stroked his stomach, she was fascinated by the way his muscles tensed underneath his skin. An appreciative smile settled on the corners of her mouth.

She watched how the transpiration shimmered on his chest. He was steadily coming closer to the edge, she recognized it. Her free hand travelled upwards to his chest and settled there. Viktor moved a hand to cover hers and entwined their fingers.

At that moment Hermione wanted desperately to kiss him, but she knew that she would have to pause her ministrations to do so. So instead she whispered to him, _"Open your eyes, love. Please."_

He obeyed her, his eyes were open and dark with desire as he observed her. Pants came from him still. A luscious smile appeared on her face and a sly twinkle was in her eyes, though she was unaware of it herself.

The Muggle-born sat up, hovered above his hard penis and carefully sat down. With her hand, she made sure he penetrated her. His manhood easily slipped inside, between her wet folds. And both of them moaned at the sensation.

Her strategy was once more the slow approach. She rocked her hips and Viktor arched his into hers. Together they found their pace, their movement eager. Before long, it fastened and Viktor's grip on her waist became essential. His pants were shallow and ragged, groans leaving his throat with regularity. Then he arched his back and bucked harder and faster inside her.

Hermione closed her eyes in ecstasy as she felt his warmth spread inside her, a whimpering moan tumbled from her lips. It was an amazing sensation, she doubted she would ever get enough of it, but it was not enough for her to come. Though her breathing had become shallow as well, moans ready to come steadily from her throat.

When Viktor slowed down and regained his breath he blinked his eyes at her. They did not say anything as they regarded each other in comfortable silence. The movement of Hermione's hips never really halted.

He sat up once more and kissed her, whilst he wrapped an arm around her torso and manoeuvred them so that Hermione laid on her back with him between her legs and his manhood still inside her.

Her lover leaned down on one elbow, careful not to trap any of her curls underneath and sealed their lips. He gripped the sheets once more, this time to keep himself steady. The fingers of his other hand played deftly with one of her nipples. Whilst their tongues danced and teeth nibbled on and nipped at lips.

Until a gasp was ripped from Hermione's throat. Viktor had started to stimulate her womanhood once more. Thrusts of his hips were accompanied by his fingers which circled over and around her clitoris. He teased and pleasured. Clearly planning to take his time, to take his revenge.

"Ah," Hermione moaned and closed her eyes as she bucked with her hips. She widened her legs, for she wanted him even deeper, "Viktor, please." Her grip on his shoulders tightened for a moment, yet they started to travel. Underneath her fingertips, she could feel the defined muscles on his back move and tense, but she barely registered it, the bliss of sex fogged her mind. As her hands travelled downwards she grabbed his ass and squeezed his flesh. And continued doing so in rhythm with his thrusts.

His fingers knew her every hollow and fold. Her juices made everything slick and made some of the friction lessen, yet he made her senses sing. He teased her folds, barely touching as he slowed his pace. Hermione gave a mewled protest and dug her nails into his ass.

It garnered a groan from him and a single hard thrust of his penis.

"Oh," she moaned. _This_ was what she wanted. "Please, please!"

He relented. Viktor's fingers began to massage and play with her clit, direct stimuli; whilst he took back his earlier pace of thrusts.

"Harder, ah, har-" her breath hitched as she felt how her lover picked up his pace, "harder, Viktor."

He complied; harder and faster. Their bodies were covered with sweat as they filled the room with the noises of their lovemaking.

Hermione's breath became shallower, her climax was closing in on her. She arched her back, "Ah!"


	11. Salvaging Destruction, part b

After their second session of lovemaking, sleep eluded Hermione, yet she stayed in bed for some light naps. But the slightest movement or noise had Hermione's eyes open, despite her feeling of safety in Viktor's arms.

It had not been the regular nightmare which had awakened her earlier that night, of that she was sure, and this knowledge gnawed at her conscious. And the worst was that she had not remembered a single thing of it, the unknown source for her unrest.

It was when she heard Hogwarts' clock peal four times that she decided to extract herself from her current safe haven. With careful movements, she made it out of bed and out of the bedroom. Her shoulder bag still laid where she had left it last evening, near the front flap of the tent. And everything she needed was in there.

Hermione was completely naked except for her wandholder, which was always strapped around her underarm, with Bellatrix' wand held in it. During their passions, neither Viktor nor she had made a move to remove their leather holders. Instead, with a simple charm, they had both made sure their wandholders would not get tangled with hair or hurt them in any other way during their passion.

She gathered her clothes from the ground and summoned her trousers from the ground of the bedroom. And with everything in hand she made her way to the bathroom. She hoped that a cold shower would be enough to drive away the last vestiges of sleep in her system.

* * *

A cup of steaming coffee sat in her hands and a Lumos hovered above her whilst she read through the early morning hours. If the caffeine would not help her through the day then she always had the option to use a Pepper-Up potion, or two.

For sleep may have fled from her mind the moment the cold spray hit her body, but something she had difficulty naming was still in present within her. It prickled her senses, made her restless and created the feeling that a headache was about to pounce on her. At times she needed to get up and walk around the place, her book still in hand, for she would not lose precious reading time.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione closed the book in her lap, another fruitless read. No answers to her questions. She took a sip of her still-warm coffee (charms truly made life easier) and reached for the next book.

* * *

It was the noises from other people talking and laughing which drew Hermione out of her reading bubble. She stretched her body and stood up from her seat on the couch. Her hair was still all over the place so she opted to battle her curls into a messy updo. With a hair elastic and hairpins in hand, she was ready to start the process.

As she worked she made her way to the front flap and with a twitch of a busy hand she opened the tent flap. The cold morning air crawled inside at once. Hermione inhaled deeply, not minding it at all. The tent had to be aired anyway.

As she stood in the opening she watched others go through their morning routines. Some looked unaffected and practically normal as they ate, smiled and talked; like nothing had happened over the last year. But just as many had a darker look in their eyes, which their smiles could not cover, or they had, at the very least, painfully obvious dark circles under their eyes. The idea to cover them up with Concealment Charms clearly had not even entered their minds. Or they simply did not care.

The war had killed innocence in so many. And had left fear and nightmarish memories, if not worse, in its stead.

The Muggle-born sighed and turned to go back inside. There was no reason for her to heap the suffering of others upon the 'mountain of experience' she had gone through during the war. She could not help them, they had to get through their traumas on their own. Just like she had to. Which reminded her that she still had to make a choice between the files on the Mind Healers which Harry and she had copied in the archive of St. Mungos.

At first, she had wanted to pull a similar stunt at the Ministry as well, but after a small debate on the subject during dinner on the day of their successful 'heist', Harry had convinced her that it was unnecessary. They had ample choice already.

Merlin knew how badly she needed a therapist. And Harry too, even though he seemed more reluctant. Yet he was not secretive about planning to go to one. For he had left the heap of files right on one end of the dining table, not bothered by the idea that anyone who came inside could see exactly what laid there. Hermione, for decorum's sake, had put a charm upon the documents. And just to be safe, after all, their little stunt had been in the newspapers.

That was how Viktor found her, bowed over the files which were spread over most of the table's surface, with here and there notes written in the marches.

_"And? Have you made up your mind yet?"_ He asked as he sat down in the chair next to hers with a mug of coffee in each hand.

Hermione took one from Viktor and kissed him softly on the lips. Then she turned her eyes back to the two files before her. Because the others she had already disqualified. _"I am almost there. Not sure whether I should choose the ex-Auror or the one with a Muggle PhD in Psychiatry."_

Viktor leaned in to take a closer look at the smiling headshots which were attached to the front pages with paper clips. Something which had to be Hermione's doing, for he had only seen those strange Muggle devices in her presence. _"Is there anything specific which keeps you on the fence?"_

_"They have both their pros and cons. But what I am really not sure about is if I will feel more comfortable with a male or female therapist. Or if there will be no difference at all."_

Viktor nodded, took a sip and leaned against the back of his chair. This was something he had no opinion about, as long as Hermione got the help she wanted he was fine with almost anything.

The Muggle-born turned to face him, _"What are your plans for today?"_

He smiled and ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes, _"The first group of people is going home today, I have to help prepare with the last few tasks."_ His words reminded Hermione that from now on, a batch of people would go home every day. Until the only ones left were the people who wanted to stay and help here. Meanwhile, Viktor continued, _"After that, I am staying around the camp, maybe take my broom and play a game in the stadium."_

The moment he was finished speaking Hermione pounced, now that the subject was on the table she took her chance, _"What about your stay, Viktor? Are you going to stay with me in England, or are you needed in Bulgaria?"_

Her lover looked aghast, _"How can you ask that?!"_

"I - I - "she sputtered, "I am sorry?" She looked both lost and surprised at once, the question making her momentarily forget Bulgarian speech, "Does that mean that you will stay?"

"After all these months of not knowing how you vere doing, vorrying if I vould ever see you again, you think I vould go back to my home country this soon?! Leaving you behind again?!"

"When you formulate it like that it does seem like a rather foolish question, doesn't it?" Hermione smiled sheepishly, then took a sip of her coffee to have something to do besides embarrassing herself further.

With a fond smile he reached over and rested his arm over the back of her chair, his skin warm against her shoulders, she felt it even through their clothes. _"I love you, Hermione."_

* * *

The hours flew by during which they had breakfast, relocated afterwards to the couch and spent the time enjoying a normal conversation between just the two of them, their words a mingle of Bulgarian and English.

During these hours Hermione told Viktor about the news she had gotten from Minerva. About the 'gas leak' in her childhood neighbourhood. As she told it she noted, not for the first time, how emotionless she was as she spoke about it. Not a single feeling settled in her chest, not even dread or sadness; even though at least a dozen lives must have been lost. Lives of neighbours she had known for whole her life. All lost in the blazing fires of Fiendfyre. For that was what it truly was, but Muggles would be presented with a Muggle-cause.

Currently, a wizarding forensic team was searching for any kind of trail of the perpetrator. McGonagall had promised to inform her if she heard anything about the matter, though had confided that the likelihood of finding anything was a small one.

And even knowing all this there was still the emotionlessness. Hermione thought that perhaps it was too surreal a thought for her to be affected by the news. That it was because she had not seen any images like Minerva had seen in the newspaper. But as she saw the colour drain from Viktor's face she knew that her own reaction - or rather the lack thereof - was not a natural one. Was she unconsciously cropping up her feelings, stowing them away? Was her current state of being an unhealthy way of not dealing with everything that was thrown at her these days?

These questions and thoughts raced through her mind, while she kept talking with Viktor as well. Obviously, he had a lot of questions, but there were only a few she could answer. For she had not read the newspaper. The idea to do so had not even occurred to her, another notion which should worry her. Because, less than a year ago, that had been the first thing she would have done.

* * *

"Hermione!"

She turned her face to the source of the sound and a relieved smile broke through her frown. Though her hands stayed in the air since she was levitating the table to set it down just outside of the tent. Viktor wanted to lunch in the open air and she thought it a perfect idea. But now that Harry was speeding towards her she quickly put the table down without really caring if it stood in the right place.

Their hug was like a happy reunion. One would think that they had not seen each other for several days or even weeks, in reality, it had not even been 24 hours.

"How was your -" the Muggle-born started to ask as she stepped back when a high-pitched shriek from above interrupted her. The duo turned their heads towards the sound and saw that upon one of their tent's cords a falcon had descended. It was the falcon from the Owlery who clearly had brought back a response.

"Well, aren't you fast," she commented with pride in her voice and stretched her hand upwards for the bird to land upon. But instead of landing on it himself he dropped the letter in it. Thereafter the falcon did not move, apart from his head to stare her down with one eye. Hermione put the letter in the back pocket of her trousers and shrugged, "If you wait here I will bring you your meal soon."

Harry tilted his head in a silent question. The Muggle-born walked back inside the tent and explained herself to Harry, who followed her. As she did so she gathered some of the slices of meat Viktor was currently preparing for lunch and put it on a saucer.

When they emerged from the tent again the falcon was still waiting, his eyes followed the treat until Hermione put it on the table. The moment she stepped away the bird swooped down, grabbed the meat in his talons and flew away.

The duo watched the falcon's departure for half a dozen seconds, then they ducked inside the tent once more to help Viktor and Harry began his tale about the current mood and wellbeing of the Weasley family. It was worrisome.

Naturally, the Weasleys had welcomed him with open arms the evening before, being ever so sincere in their love for him. And they had been sad to see him leave this soon already. Though he had promised to return in a few days' time.

Unsurprisingly, during his stay Molly had been a wreck, sporadically bursting into tears and barely saying a word, even to Harry. She did not get much further than, "Harry... You sweet boy" only to hug him or pat his hands whilst tears streamed down her cheeks.

Arthur, obviously, did his best to help and feed her and their children, but in doing so he seemed to forget to mourn his son himself. Which worried Hermione upon hearing it, then again, she had no idea how one could 'best' mourn a child or anyone dear for that matter.

However, the thing that worried them the most was that Harry had not seen George at all. Ginny had confided to him that George had not come out of their... _his_ room once. Though that they had been able to force some food and water into him every now and then. But mostly George was just a meek and voiceless shell of who he had once been.

Ron and Ginny seemed to handle the death of their brother a lot healthier. They mourned him with tears and sadness, but at least they did not withdraw into themselves. In fact, they actively sought out their father's company and tried to live as they normally would have.

Hearing all this made Hermione feel guilty about not making a visit herself. But, honestly, it was not the company of the family as a whole she avoided, but that of Ronald specifically. She just could not force herself anymore. He was too easily angered when she was nearby. And Hermione no longer wanted to get his frustration and anger thrown at her without, in her opinion, a good reason.

A heavy sigh left her body as she pondered about it and Harry's sigh followed suit. Viktor kept quiet but gave Hermione a glance. No one really knew what to say.

Harry sat in one of the chairs, though there was no table for him to put his elbows on, so instead, he had an arm thrown over the backrest and faced the kitchenette where the other two stood. Viktor was busy with readying the last pieces of food for lunch, and Hermione was content to watch her lover work, not bothered with the silence. Her expression was pensive.

But Harry had more to tell, though this was about a different, more delicate matter. He spoke up about something he had always found difficult to discuss: love and relationships.

"You know... Ginny and I... I don't know," he began though hesitated almost at once, he wondered if this was the right time or if he should wait a bit longer until it was just the two of them again. Then he shrugged, mentally telling himself that Viktor would be more present again in Hermione's life from here on out. He would have to get used to it.

Hermione blinked, looked over at him and observed him in silence.

Harry dragged in a deep breath and continued, "No matter how I tried..." He hesitated again. This time he doubted himself and wondered if he jumped to conclusions too quickly. What if he had not given himself enough time? He shook his head, unable to answer his own questions, he needed Hermione's advice. "Even during my stay, I didn't feel comfortable around her, not like before. Not once. I mean, I didn't feel _uncomfortable,_ just... not as comfortable, like I did before... Before we had to go on the hunt."

The kettle started to whistle, but before the high-pitched sound had turned too high Viktor put the fire out and filled the thermos with the hot water. He motioned for Harry and Hermione to take a seat on the couch, all the while he levitated the food, tea and the chairs to the table outside.

The Muggle-born watched her lover disappear outside, she appreciated his willingness to give them some space. Then she turned her eyes back on Harry, "Perhaps you just need to give it some time, Harry. War does things to people. It changes them, you know that like no one else -" they both had to duck to avoid being hit by the cutlery and plates which had been summoned outside, "- I mean, you still care for her in that way, right? Or do you no longer feel, you know, butterflies when she touches you?"

As she asked the questions Hermione began to lean against the counter. Though a crackling of parchment alerted her of the letter in her back pocket. She mentally cursed her preoccupied mind and fished it out at once.

All the while Harry spoke, "True, but... I don't know... When I saw how you and Viktor are together, I thought..." He trailed off and averted his eyes away from his friend, he took a few steps towards the couch but something made him pause and he turned towards Hermione. He saw her snatch the letter of earlier from her pocket.

The Muggle-born did not yet open the envelope, her eyes glanced from the paper in her hands back to the green eyes of her friend. She wanted to show him that she was sorry for the current tension he experienced between himself and Ginny. However, at the back of her mind, she noted that he was unaware of something; something she had already witnessed, but, clearly, he was oblivious of it himself.

He gave her a grateful smile but it faltered when he changed the subject. He had seen the seal of the Ministry and it made him set aside his own difficulties. "The Ministry? What for?"

The Muggle-born nodded and started to open the letter, "It is from Kingsley, I hope."

She broke the seal and read out loud to Harry what was written on the parchment. There were not many words to read and the sentences were in a hasty scrawl.

The second she finished the two looked at each other, their eyes filled with a worried realisation as Harry took a glimpse at his wristwatch. A heartbeat passed and then, as one, they ran to the open tent flap and sprinted once they did not have to worry about upturning or crashing into furniture. Viktor stood up from his seat and watched them go in shock and worry, but he did not go after them. Though a frown had settled on his face as he made himself sit back down and return to the conversation with the others who had joined him.

Side by side the duo sprinted through the camp. Some people greeted them, others even asked them what the hurry was. But none of them got any form of an answer.

In his letter Kingsley had confided that half an hour was all which they would have inside Gringotts. That the Head Goblin had been impossible to persuade. And, even worse, that their appointment would start within five minutes, a time which the duo would not be able to make. They would have less than half an hour to find Griphook's body. They could not afford to lose a single minute.

All this hassle was because the Goblins still wanted to deny entrance to them, but since it was the Minister who accompanied them this time they could hardly refuse. Though, the Goblins _could_ make whatever the duo wanted to do as infeasible as possible.

As they left the camp behind and sprinted over the grass towards the point of Apparation, Hermione did her best to produce a sentence between her panting breathes, "Harry... sent Patronus.. message... I can't."

At once he drew his wand and did as he was told. The Muggle-born was not surprised that Harry was actually _capable_ of such a feat during their dead sprint. The silver-blue stag appeared from the tip of his drawn wand and galloped ahead, soon disappearing in slivers of a white glow.

Meanwhile, the two still ran as fast as they could on their two legs. Only when they finally reached the forest and were hidden from the sight of prying eyes did they transform into their Animagus forms. Partly through the transformation, Harry set himself off from the ground to jump over a nearly two-metre high, fallen oak and he landed neatly on his hooves at the other side. Hermione, who could not jump as high (even in her vixen form), jumped as high she could to the side, in order to use the environment to her advantage. She felt her body complete the change in mid-air. The nails of her paws left small marks on the tree's bark as she used the strength in her hind paws to push herself off the standing tree and over the fallen oak.

Once each of them had landed on their four legs their speed doubled.

* * *

The duo reached the entrance of Gringotts with pearls of sweat on their foreheads, strands of their hair clung to the nape of their necks. Kingsley regarded them with a small smile on his lips as he watched them run towards and halt before him, their hands on their knees as they took deep breaths to stabilize their heartbeats. Harry's Patronus had delivered him the message that they would be late, which had been attentive of them. But Kingsley appreciated their obvious haste all the more.

Despite their attempt to be somewhat on time Harry and Hermione were still seven minutes late, they should hurry. Kingsley turned around and led the way inside without a word, his cloak billowing behind him.

Harry and Hermione followed him, though all they could do was to gulp in more oxygen. Yet while they did so the two _did_ notice two Aurors appear from behind a column near the door and follow Kingsley inside like they were his shadows. It was a bit disconcerting.

A sentiment Kingsley shared with them, for as they walked he came to walk beside Harry and Hermione and said drily, "Yes, I don't like them either, but the Head of the Auror Department won't listen to whatever I have to say on the matter."

By now their breathing had somewhat normalised which was the moment Harry tried to ask Kingsley why he had not informed them sooner about this appointment.

But the older man would not let him finish his sentence. "Later," Kingsley murmured without looking anywhere but ahead of him, "right now we need to do what we came here for."

They passed a few other wizards and witches who were led by a Goblin or given instructions on how to fill in this and that file. The atmosphere was... quite neutral, especially compared to their last visit, but there was still the ever-present tension in the air whenever Goblins and wizarding folk had to interact with one another.

Soon the group was at the Head Goblin's table and he looked just as vicious as the previous time, if not more so. A snarl was permanently on his face and he had a white-knuckled grip on his gavel.

"Minister," was all he said, he did not deign to speak to Harry nor Hermione. He did not even glance their way.

"Head Goblin, we have come to enter the vaults of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. And we have still," Kingsley looked at his pocket watch, "22 minutes left of the agreed-upon time."

"Keys." It seemed that the Goblin would not speak more than one-word sentences.

Harry fished in his neck pouch and took two keys from it. One was made of gold, looking the part with multiple bits and what seemed to be over a hundred key wards in them. The other was a simple iron key, with only one bit and the common number of key wards. It had greatly embarrassed Harry when he and Hermione had gone to Gringotts together for the first time all those years ago. But, naturally, Hermione had assured him that she was not in the least bothered by it.

Still, the contrast made him feel self-conscious, even now.

"Just a cart to our vaults is enough, sir," Hermione said as Harry handed the keys for inspection to the Head Goblin.

The glee in small beaded eyes was enough of a warning, "Oh, no, we don't want you to get lost, especially with the Minister of Magic present. No, there will be several Goblins who shall escort you."

The duo exchanged a glance but did not otherwise betray their discomfort at hearing the news.

After they got their keys back three Goblins were called from an alcove, all three of them looked with just as much contempt at them as their Head Goblin. The 'neutrality' which had seemingly hung in the air earlier had likely been a pretence.

The only sounds were their footsteps on the marble floor and the opening and closing of the grand door which lead to all the vaults. The three Goblins stayed near one another as if moving in a pack meant that they were safe.

Harry and Hermione had been trying to silently communicate with glances when they both felt something shift in the air. Though it was subtle, barely evident. Still, Hermione stiffened and her eyes flew to Kingsley.

The Minister smiled widely as the Muggle-born turned to look at him fully, he had not expected anything less. Though the confused expression was a bit of a surprise, then he realized that she had not enjoyed her last year at Hogwarts yet, that she had 'merely' had a crash course for her N.E.W.T.s last summer. Yet still, she had been able to excel. An admirable feat, in his opinion. He motioned with one hand forward and indicated for her to look at the Goblins.

As Hermione did this she saw to her astonishment how the three started to wobble in their step, they no longer walked in a straight line, rather in a manner that made one believe them to be drunk. Her eyes went back to Kingsley, but his posture was too relaxed, then she realised that the Aurors had stayed more in the back. And her suspicions were correct for they both had a look of concentration on their faces as they walked with their hands and wands outstretched. Creating complex looking movements.

Only once the spell was finished and had settled wholly into the air did she dare open her mouth to ask questions, though Harry beat her to it.

"What happened to them? You haven't used the Imperius Curse, have you? They never walked like that." He looked at the Goblins with a frown and Hermione knew he was thinking back to the times he had to use the curse.

"No, Mister Potter," one of the Aurors stepped closer to them and looked at the young adults with a mingled expression of respect and disinterest. He was not the first person who was clearly a few decades older than them and had difficulty believing that they had made the difference during the war. "You are correct."

"But then what _did_ you do," Hermione asked eagerly. There were signs that this was a strong Confundus Charm, but it was said not to be effective within the walls of Gringotts, at least not effective for longer than a few seconds. Only for the victim to snap out of it and reach for the alarm bells.

Then she looked over at the other Auror and saw how his features were still contorted in an expression of concentration. His lips moved to whisper incantation after incantation. Her eyes widened as comprehension dawned on her. They were constantly casting the spell over and over again. It was likely draining their magical abilities, unless...

"Indeed," the pretending-to-be-Auror nodded as he looked at the duo, "we are specialists in charms employed by the Ministry, though our services are usually not used like this..."

"Their cover is a sound one," Kingsley said, "since becoming Minister I get followed by two Aurors every step I make. Gawain, the Head of Aurors, insists." The last part came out with a sigh.

Harry opened his mouth to ask how he had managed to persuade the Aurors to allow a temporary stop in their security, but before he could the faux-Auror held up his hand, " _Please_ , let's ask questions whilst we continue to do what we came here for, this is a gruelling task as it is."

Kingsley nodded in earnest, "You're right, we have to hurry."

The Goblins waited for them in the cart, mumbling incoherent words to no one but themselves. Both of the Charm specialists had taken the backseats, their attention focused on nothing but the incantations. Kingsley answered the questions Harry had for them, but Hermione did not listen, for she had to understand how to navigate the cart if she wanted to find Griphook's body.

The whole group except for Hermione got out of the cart when it halted not too far from Harry's vault door.

During their ride Hermione had informed the others that she would go down to the bowels of Gringotts on her own to retrieve Griphook's body, whilst Harry and Kingsley should get the needed money from both Harry and Hermione's vaults as an alibi. Besides needing proof of their visits, they actually truly needed the money to buy new clothes, school supplies and other personal items which had gotten lost or destroyed during the war.

Harry handed her his Invisibility Cloak, "be careful." _And come back to me._

She nodded as she took it and pulled the lever of the cart. There was no time to lose.

Hermione walked stealthily underneath the cloak, aware that if she would be spotted by anyone she would forever be banned to set even one single step into Gringotts. As she walked from the cart and through the first corridor she could not help but falter slightly. This was where they had battled Bellatrix. The scorch marks were still all over the ceiling, ground and walls.

She shook her head to stir away the memories which simmered in the back of her mind, but they seemed all too eager to be lingered upon.

The longer she stayed down here the tenser she became. It was just like that day, it felt as if... As if the Death Eater could still be prowling in the shadows, waiting for Hermione to arrive and step in one of her traps. It would not be the first time that Bellatrix made the impossible possible...

Hermione bit down on her bottom lip, hard. She had to focus and she had to be fast. Merlin knew how much time had already passed. By now she practically ran through the corridors and into the giant empty space where once the Ukraine Ironbelly had been kept. She was utterly relieved to see that no other creature had been forced in its place. Yet.

This was where she had left Griphook's body, somewhere in the shadows and nearby the cavern's wall, behind a big boulder. But there were many such boulders, many more than Hermione could remember. She knew that their escape with the Ironbelly was to blame. Blasting a cavern's ceiling open had as a consequence that more than only the explosion's debris falls to the ground.

Worry gnawed at her insides, she hoped desperately that the charms and wards had kept Griphook's body safe and undetected, among other things. For they should have kept his remains from decomposing as well. If the spells had done their work and held strong all these days. Which she was not sure about.

She took the crooked wand from her holster, ignored the annoying prickles it sent up the nerve system of her fingers and muttered the incantation. Then she waited. And waited. She knew that there would not come a magical trail of floating dust or sparkles she could follow, like in most fairy tales. No matter how much easier it would be. Yet she looked everywhere for just that kind of sign, despite knowing better.

Then she _felt_ it, finally! The softest, barely noticeable, invisible pull. As if someone reached out for her, but instead of taking her hand they took a hold of her soul. She had become a compass and Griphook was enchanted to be her 'north'. It had been one of the spells she had put on his body before she left him, it was a spell triggered only by the incantations being repeated three times and it would break through the ward she had put around him.

As she followed the pull she began to venture through the darkness, there clearly were no new torches put up here. _Deliberately?_ She summoned the weakest Lumos she could manage, too scared to draw attention to herself otherwise. And still her grip on her wand tightened, Hermione had been on edge ever since she walked out of the cart but now her body practically vibrated with tension.

Yet nothing happened; there were no sudden ambushes and no battle-cries echoed through the cavern.

It was not until she walked over the threshold of the wards she had put up that something happened. Before her eyes, the small, sunken body of Griphook materialized. His ashen features were a stark contrast to the darkness of his blood-drenched clothes. She could barely see him in the shadows, yet the fact that he was dead was still unmistakable.

She was heartened by the fact that there was no strangely sweet scent in the air, which implied that the charms to keep his body from decomposing had worked long enough, even though she could not detect them on him. She wondered how long her magic's energy had lasted, but knew she would not get an answer from anyone, least of all from Griphook.

The Muggle-born took a steadying breath, then took the cloak off of herself to put it partially over Griphook's body and levitated his body. With him hovering before her she ran the way back to the cart. There was probably little time left, so consequences could be damned.

* * *

Harry's relief at her reappearance was visible, the frown on his features ceased and he reached out to touch her. Just his hand on hers, the gesture innocent though needy. It was obvious to Hermione that she had not been the only one to be haunted by what had transpired down in the bellows of Gringotts.

The three Goblins still walked around as if they had downed more than five bottles of Firewhisky. Despite this, the Goblins took a seat in the cart, ready to stir the cart back to the entrance. The two faux-Aurors close on their heels. What worried Hermione was the obvious strain the two Charm specialist experienced. Pearls of sweat dripped down their forehead.

"We have already overstayed our welcome, let's go," Kingsley said calmly. Though he did not wait for inquiries to be made, he followed after the Aurors.

Harry carried two bags of gold with him, both bags were bigger than they needed to be for the amount of money they carried but that was part of the guise. Hermione was last to step into the cart, busy wrapping Griphook with a respectful carefulness completely in the cloak. The moment she sat down the cart jerked into motion.

The duo was silent whilst they handled, they both knew the plan so there was no need to discuss it. Harry added the coins from one bag into the other, filling it to the amount for which the size of the bag was made and gave the empty one to Hermione. Who, meanwhile, mentally asked Griphook's soul for forgiveness as she put his body into the empty bag, one she had enchanted to be able to carry a larger object - or, in this case, a small person - without showing its true form and size.

Two unsuspicious bags, each presumably filled with coins, was what Harry and Hermione carried now with them.

Before the group entered the entrance hall, the Goblins were released from their charmed confusion. But not before Kingsley had magically altered their memories. Creating in their minds a cause for the already present suspicion. Instead of the truth, the three Goblins remembered that the wizards had started an argument with them. Which had escalated in a nasty Jinx from one of the Aurors.

Once freed from their state of confusion one of the Goblins started to retch. The other two reached out for him, though still unsteady themselves. As they patted him on the back they tried to glare at the wizards and witch.

This whole 'debacle' would cause more damage to the already fragile relationship between Goblin and Wizard, but if the Goblins knew the truth it would be even worse. And the fact that the group had overstayed their short-timed welcome did not help either.

Needless to say, the Head Goblin sneered at them the moment they came into his sight. And when his eyes fell upon the three Goblins, who all looked like they felt unwell, his eyes widened in fury. When he spoke his voice was a mere whisper but the loathing in his voice made his every word all the more audible. "You, _all_ of you, I will make sure none of you will be able to enter your vaults for as long as I sit here."

Kingsley held up one hand, as if to calm the Goblin, "My apologies, what has transpired was unprofessional and it will be my personal task to make sure that the one responsible will feel the repercussions."

The Head Goblin sniffed, not at all impressed, then he hissed, "You won't get me this easily off your back, Minister. I will make certain of that. Now get out! _Get out!_ "

Harry and Hermione would not wait to be told a second time. Both did their best to keep their pace normal and their body language relaxed, but their eyes were trained on the exit. The other three were close behind them.

When the group was a little distance away from the building, neither Harry nor Hermione was surprised when two more - this time _real_ \- Aurors came from an adjoined side street and took to walk beside Kingsley. They had been nearby and keeping an eye on the bank's front door all this time.

As the group rounded a corner Harry gripped Hermione's elbow to make her halt as he spun around to face Kingsley. Before he could even open his mouth however, the Minister stopped him, "Let's find ourselves a fine room at the Leaky Cauldron, hm? No reason not to get comfortable."

He put his hands on both their backs to usher them into the direction of the tavern. But once inside a portkey was presented, no unnecessary words shared. Harry and Hermione glanced at one another, he shrugged and she sighed before they both put their hands on the item. The familiar feeling overwhelmed Hermione slightly as Kingsley uttered the codeword, but she clenched her jaws and tightened her grip.

The room they arrived in was unfamiliar to the duo. Neither one said anything, they just inspected their surroundings whilst their experience in Gringotts sunk in. It was not long before they both knew that they were in the Minister's office.

Kingsley spoke softly with the Charms specialist, who looked truly drained at this point. The travel with portkey had clearly not done anything good to their energy levels. And with a nod towards Harry and Hermione, the two specialists took their exit. One of the Aurors accompanied them, a concerned look on his face.

Then the Minister rounded on them, a big, tired smile adorned his face, "I believe we did well, all things considered."

Harry nodded though he looked doubtful, "but with the Head Goblin as furious as he is, I doubt I will ever get access to my vault again."

"Don't concern yourself with that, I will go into negotiations with him. It will just take a few months..." Kingsley said and shrugged. "Though it might be best if you make formal appointments or make requests through letters for your money to be sent to you, for, let's say, a period of a year or two?"

"How convenient," Hermione darkly muttered to herself and laid her bag carefully on the table. She had no doubt that the Goblins would take every excuse to delay the post as much as possible. Just to spite them.

Harry looked worried for a moment before he nodded, "I hope it will work."

"I won't rest until it does," Kingsley said solemnly, "Now, about Grimmauld Place: I will speak to the Head of Aurors about a plan of action. It isn't wise to venture inside alone, Harry. You know that."

_Oh, so Harry has discussed our wish to take up residence in Grimmauld Place,_ Hermione noted.

"I do," Harry acknowledged, "thanks for all your help, Kingsley. We really appreciate it."

The broad smile returned on the Minister's face and he patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Of course, Harry. Don't hesitate to ask for help on any kind of matter. The same goes for you, of course, Hermione."

Harry and Hermione smiled gratefully, it had been so long that people could openly support them. It was still a bit strange to hear it.

"Is there anything else I can help you with? No? Then I have to say my goodbye, for now, I need to get through these files before the clock ticks 3 pm. I will see you two soon," Kingsley said with a final nod.

"How so?" Hermione inquired, she did not know about any plans to visit the Ministry any time soon.

"You will see, Hermione," Kingsley said with a proud smile directed at the two of them, "there is no need to worry. It's a good thing."

Harry and Hermione frowned but said nothing more about the subject. They made their goodbyes and were escorted by the last Auror to one of the Ministry's exits.

The Muggle-born wished she could simply Banish Griphook's body to a secure place in their tent, but the wards around Hogwarts would not allow it. Thus, she had to carry the bag instead, as respectfully as she could possibly do.

Once on the streets of Muggle London Harry ran a hand through his hair and let out a tired sigh, "I forgot to ask Kingsley why he hadn't sent the letter sooner."

* * *

That same evening Griphook's funeral was held in secret; the fewer people who knew the better. Hagrid and Viktor were the only other two present. Since Luna had gone home early.

Hermione had reasoned that they had needed the Half Giant's help, for he knew Hogwarts grounds best of anyone and had to keep an eye on it all. It would have been likely that he had stumbled on the patch of ground sooner rather than later. And if Hagrid would have opened the grave... Hermione shuddered at the idea alone. The scandals it would have created... And if the information would ever reach the Goblins... It would make a renewed Goblin war all the more likely of happening.

_No, this is for the best,_ Hermione told herself. Having Hagrid in on the secret was the safest solution, despite his trusting - and at times somewhat babbling - nature. If Dumbledore had believed in Hagrid's ability to keep quiet, so could she.

Harry agreed with her points, but most of all he simply preferred Hagrid to be there Hagrid had lived through the war, knew like no one else what it was like to lose the dearest of friends.

Even if Griphook had not been their friend, he was still a War Hero. And deserved nothing less than a respectful funeral. Just like Dobby, just like Dumbledore and... just like Sirius. Harry looked around him and decided that this was the perfect spot for a Goblin's grave. Hidden in the shadows of old trees, with dense underbrush. It may not be a cave, which Griphook had likely preferred, but at least the sun would scarcely shine on his patch of ground.

Viktor stood with straight shoulders and his chin high. His hair was combed backwards and kept neatly with a charm. He was here because Hermione did not want to keep him in the dark, he was part of her life. And _if_ their relationship would ever threaten to break, then she could always resort to a Memory Charm, though the idea did not sit well with her. She grabbed his hand in hers as she tried to drive the thoughts away and gave it a gentle squeeze. He gave her one in response.

Meanwhile, Harry had taken to stand at the foot of the grave and said some kind words. He thanked Griphook for all he had done. Hermione heard the regret clearly in his voice. His regret that so many had had to die before he was able to stop the madness. And even now, four days after the Battle of Hogwarts, not all the Death Eaters had been captured.

The Muggle-born was next, though all she could think of to say was that she was sorry. "Sorry that I wasn't quick enough to heal you, sorry that I didn't see the attack coming, sorry that we had to drag you into the battle."

On their way to this place she had picked up several spring flowers and with a tap on the small bouquet with Bellatrix' wand she made the flowers grow and sprout roots which dug into the ground. There would be little sunlight for photosynthesis, but she hoped that Griphook's magical energy would give the plants enough nutrients to survive.

This time it was Hermione who wrote on the headstone. She chose the words carefully so that _if,_ by some miracle, somebody stumbled upon the grave, they would have no idea who could be buried here. Though the stone was enchanted to only show the letters if someone touched it.

_Here lies he who made a crucial difference during the war,_

_unbeknownst to many._

_Rest in Peace._

Harry nodded, the grave was beautiful. He hoped he could give Severus Snape a worthy funeral as well, he knew that Hermione would no doubt want to help him if need be.

The group gave a final show of respect and turned around to start on their way back to camp. Grawp had stayed far from the grave, to watch through the thicket of leaves and branches from a distance. As silent as a mouse. That is, until now, for he lumbered towards them, obviously glad the ceremony was over.

His head was no longer covered with bandages, though his eye was still swollen and closed. And there was the stiffness to his walk, but it was better than the stumbling which it had been.

As Hermione watched the two relatively small Giants walk a few metres ahead of her she wondered what would happen to the bigger one once the new school year would start. Would Grawp be allowed to stay on Hogwart's grounds? Or perhaps be put back in the Forbidden Forest? If not, where would the Giant be housed then? And would he behave without having Hagrid by his side? What about his cave? He had lived there before, perhaps he could live there again?

The Muggle-born also wondered how long it would take for Minerva to find out about Griphook's grave, and if she would be angry or hurt not to be told.

A heavy sigh escaped her. It could be so bone-tiring to be responsible.

A well-muscled arm wrapped over her shoulders and a tender kiss was pressed against her temple. Viktor's scent washed over her with their close proximity. She smiled and wrapped her arm around his middle to pull his side against hers. For the moment the two of them lacked to care for their public display of affection. And besides, the other three walked ahead of them with their backs towards her and Viktor, for now, the couple had some privacy.

* * *

In truth, it was strange that it had taken them this long to bump into each other in camp, but still, it felt like it was all too soon in Hermione's opinion. Though they did not really bump in one another, it was just that Fleur walked out of the main tent right when Hermione passed by. She did her best to cover her sudden nervousness with a smile, "Fleur, hi! _How have you been?_ "

_"'Ermione, good morning. I am fine, how are you?"_ The French woman smiled pleasantly. If Fleur felt anything than her usual confident self, Hermione got not a single clue from her countenance.

_"Oh, fine, perfectly fine."_ She put the weight of the object she was carrying on her hip. _"Just helping around in the camp."_

_"I believe I haven't seen you get to work in camp before, right?"_

The Muggle-born realized that Fleur was right, until now she had not once stayed to help around the camp, she had always gone to help somewhere in the castle, be with friends or had gone on the 'secret mission' with Harry. A blush of shame coloured her cheeks, how lousy she must look to others. _"Yeah, that is true, isn't it?"_

Fleur's eyes widened as realisation dawned on her, she held up her hands with files still clutched in them as if to stop the younger woman's thoughts right there and then. "Ah, non! Je suis désolé, 'Ermione! I didn't mean it like that. Eet was just an observation I 'ad made. I know that you can't sit still. You 'elp een the castle and other places. Just not 'ere, and that ees perfectly fine!"

"Uhm, yes, uhm, thank you?" Hermione had the crawling suspicion that this conversation would turn out to feel very uncomfortable; as if they were complete strangers. She hurriedly decided to change the subject, _"By the way, Harry and I got some money from our vaults yesterday, so I will be able to buy some new clothes and give you back your own in a few days' time."_

The quarter-Veela smiled and nodded, though for a moment Hermione had the feeling it was forced. _"Yes, thank you, take your time though. I have still enough clothes to wear."_

_"No, I can't keep your clothes, they are yours."_

_"If you are sure,"_ Fleur said.

_"I am, it is no problem at all."_

_"Alright then."_

Silence descended between them, an awkward silence. Neither one seemed to know how to break it.

"Ahem, well, I will be seeing you again," Hermione said with a wave.

"Au revoir, 'Ermione." Then Fleur strode in the opposite direction.

_This must have been the most boring and awkward conversation we have ever had,_ Hermione thought miserably as she continued on her path. _And I did not even clarify that I have not those kinds of feelings for her. How is that conversation supposed to go, if this one was already so... dire?_

Her thoughts kept returning to the awkward conversation as she worked in and around the camp. It was only when she returned to the tent and was greeted by a smiling Harry who waved two letters in his hand that she was granted a short respite.

"We got letters from the Minister already and -" he stopped himself as he scrutinized her. "What is the matter?"

The Muggle-born sighed. Of course, Harry would see immediately that something was wrong. "I had a conversation with Fleur. The whole ordeal was _very_ awkward and I didn't even clarify the comments I made in the garden."

"Perhaps that was why it was so awkward?" He shrugged with a slightly puzzled look on his face. Women were pretty much a mystery to him, well, all except for Hermione.

Hermione motioned with her hand to the letters he still held in his hand. "What do they say?"

"I know as little as you, wanted to wait 'till you were here."

She smiled at that and bumped her shoulder against his. Together they settled inside the tent with a cup of tea and opened the seals on their letters.

They, among the other Order members, would be given a medal for their heroics during the war. Other people, who had also played important roles would be invited as well to receive a medal during the ceremony. Which was planned to take place in two weeks time, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, where the battle had raged during its final hours.

"You reckon there will be any journalist present?" Harry asked.

"Probably. Kingsley wants to show the people that he is rebuilding and moving forward, but, clearly, he does not want to do that by forgetting the war. This material is going into the historical archives, so there will be a camera crew at the very least."

Harry put his elbow on the table and his chin in the palm of his hand, his green eyes stared at something outside.

"Any idea where Viktor is?" Hermione asked after a while, she had been content with sipping her tea.

He shook his head, Harry had not seen him since breakfast, after which Harry had gone in search for Minerva to ask if he, Hermione and Viktor would be allowed to stay at Hogwarts until Grimmauld Place was ready to move in to. How glad he had been when the Professor had welcomed them to stay as long as they pleased. And, now that he remembered it, he relayed the news to Hermione with the same joyous energy as with which he had received it.

A smile, small but sincere in its warmth, appeared on the young woman's lips. She had not once thought that Minerva would send them out of Hogwarts, but it was still nice to hear they would be welcome for as long as need be. "I am so glad, we will have to thank Minerva properly one of these days. Perhaps we can buy her something nice when we are in Muggle London tomorrow."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, "What are we going there for?"

Hermione had a sly glimmer in her eyes as she said, "Because I know how much you adore shopping for clothes, Harry."

The young man actually groaned like a spoiled teenager, though when he slumped down over the table a smile was on his lips.

In the distance they heard the clock peal, it was half-past three. Hermione had no desire to get up to work in the camp again, she felt far too uncomfortable at the prospect of another encounter with Fleur.

Reading had always been her go-to, and she truly wanted to put her energy into her research, yet since the previous day, unrest seemed to have settled inside her. It was like what she supposed was how having a sixth sense would feel like. And hers told her something was terribly wrong. It ate away at her consciousness, even more so when she sat down for longer than an hour.

"It will be Neville's birthday soon, won't it?"

Harry's question tore Hermione away from her inner musings. "Yes, I believe so."

"Then we need to buy him something as well. Really, by now we need to make a list of the people we want to give a present." Harry shook his head with a disbelieving smile. He started to count them on his hands, "Hagrid, Luna, Bill and Fleur, Arthur and Molly, Minerva, and Neville. Am I forgetting someone?"

"Well, coincidentally I know where we can find the perfect presents for Neville, though I honestly don't know if the place is still accessible."

"Do tell, I am all ears."

* * *

The duo carried several small pots filled with fresh loam in their arms, one hand shovel for each and both with protective gloves on. Gear which they had gotten from the greenhouses.

During their walk to the second floor girls' lavatory, Harry told Hermione that he had written a letter to Andromeda Tonks asking her if he could make a visit soon to meet Teddy, who he had yet to see for the first time.

"Want me to come with you?" she asked whilst they turned the last corner.

Harry nodded and smiled sheepishly, "I think I would like that, I am a bit nervous, to be honest. I never really held a baby."

Myrtle was not around as they stepped inside the lavatory, which gave them the opportunity to enter through the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets undisturbed. The stairs were still intact and mostly unobscured, no steps were missing and the rocks which had fallen down upon the stairs were not big enough to block the whole of the passageway.

Even the first few tunnels were not that worse for wear. They could still walk through them, though the duo had to move rocks here and there. Unfortunately, they could not throw Bombarda's at the debris, since the explosions would likely have as a result that more of the ceiling would come crashing down around if not on top of them.

She had planned to bring Neville here someday, but she doubted it was actually safe for them to be here. _Well, it is a good thing then that we bring the plants to him instead._ If _we can still reach the plants._

They had walked in the glow of a Lumos for a while by the time they came to a halt. Before them stood a massive wall of rocks and not a single opening could be seen. The duo put everything they carried on the ground and started to look if they could make a passage, to see if specific rocks looked more vulnerable to moving spells than others.

Harry was the first to find a weak spot in the wall. Though as they worked oh-so-carefully to make a path it was soon clear that the opening, which was big at the start, grew smaller as they went deeper through the wall of stones. It became too narrow for a human to fit through. And making it bigger would only make being in these tunnels riskier. What if some of those big, immovable boulders were the bearers of the weight from what was left of the ceiling?

The Muggle-born looked from the small gap to her friend, who looked at her in return. For a moment she tilted her head and glanced at Harry's wristwatch.

He held it in the Lumos light, "We have been walking down here for more than an hour."

Hermione kept silent and looked back at the small opening they had created, she could not see far, for there was complete darkness beyond the stone wall. Though she felt a cold breeze coming from the opening, so there was still some kind of ventilation in these tunnels.

That was the moment she made a decision, "In my vixen form I will easily fit through that hole, I can scout ahead, see if the plants have survived the battle. If not, we can walk back and try one of the other tunnels."

"Perhaps, but..." _I don't like the idea of you being there all alone._

Harry did not have to say it out loud, it was written all over his face. Yet he knew it to be the best solution. They did not have a time limit to be here, but the longer they stayed down here the likelier it was for people to notice their absence and start to wonder. And if Minerva found out they were here, well, they doubted any good would come of it.

"I will be gone for only a moment." Without any move or incantation Hermione started her transformation, she shrunk and her senses became all the more prominent.

Harry looked at her with an uncertain worry but nodded all the same. "Send me a Patro - I mean, yell when you need me, please."

Hermione wanted to say that yelling was probably the last thing they should do since they could risk another downfall of rocks from the ceiling. Instead, she swished her tail in annoyance and turned to trot to the narrow gap between the fallen pieces of ceiling.

Harry watched her disappear into the dark with tension in his shoulders. Something felt not right, though Hermione had waved his concerns off when he had voiced them out loud whilst they had entered the labyrinth of tunnels and he had listened to her. But now that she was gone the worry gnawed at him once more.

* * *

Hermione trotted through the tunnels, at ease in her animal body. She sniffed around, much like a hound sniffing out a fox. The irony was not lost on her.

With her senses as finetuned as they were the vixen needed no Lumos. Her whiskers caught the trembles of movements in the ground or air. Her ears picked up the distant sound of rats eating a few long tunnel-corridors away, and heard rats scurrying around at an even greater distance. And though she was in complete darkness she could still see her surroundings; the profile of arches and walls, or the boulders which blocked most of the paths were all easily depicted in the dark. Though right now she relied most of all on her nose.

Despite the cold breeze she had felt earlier, the air was still a damp and musty thing. Scents were definitely present in the tunnels, but Hermione had difficulty separating them. As she trotted further into the tunnel with her nose in the air, she did detect the scent of spores. But the overwhelming scent of rats and urine made it impossible for her to ascertain where exactly the plants grew.

What puzzled Hermione the most was the scent of urine which grew heavier on the breeze the more she travelled inwards. She could not remember rats ever leaving such a strong scent behind. Especially since these tunnels had become somewhat like sewers, with its flooded places, water enough to clean oneself in.

A sudden noise made her stop dead in her tracks, for, in the far distance, a groan had sounded. The kind of low grumbles a normal rat would never be able to produce. Had a creature from the battle fallen down into the tunnels and somehow survived the fall? One of those giant spiders perhaps? A shudder danced over her spine at the mere possibility. It made her raise her fur, to seem bigger than she was. Adrenaline had begun to course through her bloodstream, she could sprint away if need be. Her muscles tense for the need for fast reflexes.

Hermione strained her hearing, her ears turned towards the place where the sound had come from, but there was no repeat. Only silence, except for the ever-present rats in the background.

Slowly she started to walk again, this time making sure her nails made as little sound on the stone floor as possible. Her previous endeavour completely forgotten. All her senses were tuned in on whatever the source of that sound could be.

It took perhaps the quarter of an hour for her to come close to the place, following the sound of rasped breathing when she had come close enough to hear it, but it felt like hours had passed. Dread filled her as she listened to the sickly sound, she would not be surprised to find this creature injured or in a high fever. But everyone knew that a scared wild animal was not to be underestimated.

Hermione started to see the creature in the distance. Close to a corner in the tunnel there lay a dark heap in the almost as dark shadows. It was a strange form, certainly no giant spider. But then what was it?

The vixen stayed were she was for a long time, her eyes never straying from their point of interest. When nothing happened, she dared to move closer. Though she was still a good 40 metres apart. And from this distance, she detected the faintest movement of breathing that accompanied the ragged sounds in time. Thus, this was one and the same, this creature had made the noise she had heard earlier. It must be.

All of a sudden it moved, its body stirred, wild hair waved around. The movements jerky and clumsy, then the creature slumped back against the wall from which it had stirred. "Who is there?!" The yell echoed off the walls.

She stopped dead in her tracks, again. The vixen did not move a single muscle, not even her whiskers twitched. She was as if struck by lightning.

A hope seeped into the rough voice, whilst a hand reached for the wall in a foolish attempt to stand up, "My Lord?! Is that you?!"

More echoes, followed closely by silence. Hermione would always recognize that voice, it hunted her in her nightmares, after all.

"No, no," Bellatrix muttered to softly herself, though it carried far through the silence, "the energy is too subtle, weak."

There was a pause, then a soft crooning voice, "Come here, weakling. Come out and show yourself."

More silence, but the vixen started to regain control over her body. With extreme caution to not give away where she was Hermione began to pad backwards.

"Come out, come out! So that I can have some fun with you!"

The singsong voice made shudders run all over her body. Memories of her torture, combined with flashes from her nightmare, pounced on her mind and caused a momentary loss of her grip on reality and therefore the caution with which she had moved was momentarily forgotten. She put her hind paw, which had hovered above a small rock, back on the ground to regain her balance, but in doing so she hit the rock and made it clatter over the ground.

Then two things happened at once. A Cruciatus Curse came to life while at the same moment Bellatrix yelled triumphantly, "Gotchya!" Her crazed smile was minutely illuminated by the light of her magic as the curse shot away from her outstretched hand.

The green colour of the spell was reflected in the wide-open and terrified eyes of the vixen.


	12. Improvised Therapy, part a

The vixen's shrieks echoed through the tunnels as the, to Hermione familiar, white-hot pins from the curse sank deep into her body. She writhed on the ground, whilst she tried to get a grip on the environment with her paws. But all which happened was her nails scratching the stone.

The agony audible in those screams would bring shudders to most people's spines. Bellatrix was not 'most people'. Her mad cackle rang proudly through the tunnels, intertwining with the agony she created.

This sound too was something Hermione was all too familiar with. Even as she spasmed on the floor, whilst her body was forced to return to her human form, did she register the creepy sound.

Though the Death Eater's fun was cut short, for a nasty cough abruptly broke through her laughter. The older woman wheezed and sputtered. Phlegm obscured her respiratory passages, making breathing something that currently needed all her attention. Therefore, control over the curse was lost and it broke off at once.

The moment it was lifted Hermione clenched her jaws to keep herself from making a single sound. Bellatrix had located her with the use of sound, thus Hermione _had_ to stay silent. And she succeeded except for her shallow breathing. Which she quickly regulated into deep breaths, ones that could not be heard over Bellatrix' coughing fit. All the while, she carefully stirred her body into movement, she gripped the floor with a shaky hand and made herself sit on her hands and knees on the floor. And as her senses came back to her the Muggle-born grew aware of just how utterly dark it was this deep in the maze of tunnels. She _had_ to return to her vixen form, no matter how uncomfortable a transformation would be with her now sensitive body.

Despite the fact that the Crusiatus had not even lasted the half amount of time she had endured in Malfoy Manor, Hermione was still shaking on her paws by the time she was standing in her vixen form.

With her sight back, she watched as Bellatrix lay practically crumpled on the floor. Even with the distance between them, Hermione saw how the Death Eater's body shuddered like a leaf in an attempt to sit upright with her hands on the floor to steady herself. Sickness had her in its power however, Bellatrix was far too weak to even try to get up again.

Hermione observed the woman a moment longer, anger for what had just happened mingled momentarily with her fear, but then she tore her eyes away from the pitiful heap of old flesh and bones. She had no doubt that Harry had heard the echoes of her screams and was currently blasting his way through the wall of fallen ceiling, not caring that he endangered himself. With fear for his safety, she sprinted as fast as she could, ignoring the lingering pain of the curse and thanking Merlin that there was no water she could fall and drown in, for she seemed unable to run in a straight line. Still, even as she ran in an unsteady line, her speed did not suffer from it. And gradually her steps became steadier.

It was not long before she could hear the destructive magic if only she could cast a Patronus she could have spared Harry the despair of not knowing about her wellbeing. Hermione felt longing and fear for the idea of trying to cast one. She could try the memory of her reunion with Viktor. But she would have to return into a human first, then she would still have to take the time and concentrate on the feeling and... It would take too long. Hermione had made her decision and finalized it with a short shake of her head and body whilst she continued to run.

* * *

Hermione came sprinting and jumped through an opening that had not been there before. She twisted through the smog of the previous explosion to avoid an upcoming Bombarda and landed into the bright Lumos light only to dash forward again. Behind her, another big boulder exploded into debris and for the first time (for as far as Hermione was aware at least) the ceiling began to rumble and groan for the loss of support. Small pieces of rock and cement fell downwards.

Harry stood there with wild panic on his face, sweat covered his skin, he had not yet noticed her. With his wand in hand, he shot one spell after another. Until he finally saw the vixen, who jumped and morphed just before she collided with him, her arms thrown around him as he stumbled and almost fell backwards because of the force.

"Herm - Her -" Harry stuttered as he slowly wrapped his arms around her, "Hermione." The clatter of his wand on the stone floor was a forlorn sound in the tunnel where explosions had been going off mere seconds ago.

The Muggle-born breathed too fast from her sprint to do anything other than say, "Yes."

"What was that back there? I heard your screams from such a distance away and I tried to get through these boulders, really, but they are -"

Hermione took a step away, her face showing far too many emotions, "Harry, not now. We have to get to Minerva at once."

* * *

Harry had sent a Patronus ahead of them, warning the Headmistress that there was a dire situation. Meanwhile, the duo sprinted through the castle. Hermione wondered if there would ever come a day that they did not have to rush to one place or another.

Fear bubbled inside her, it fueled her legs to go as fast as she could. It was a fear originating from so many different reasons, there was no time to inspect them all. But most of all, Hermione was afraid that, despite her sickness, Bellatrix would escape out of the tunnels now that Harry had enlarged the gap, and would spread terror once more.

They were halfway to the office met by a briskly striding Minerva, her robes billowing behind her as if she was the one running. Her eyes were stern and her mouth was set in a thin line.

"What is the cause of this unrest? Are there Death Eaters scouted in the Forest?"

"We were in the tunnels which lead to the Chamber of Secrets," Harry puffed out. "Looking... Looking for a few rare plants." He kept Neville out of the story, no need to drag him into something he had nothing to do with.

Whilst he spoke Hermione looked around to see if anyone was nearby. When she was quite certain it was unlikely that they would be overheard she said softly, "Lestrange, it is Bellatrix Lestrange, she is in the tunnels underneath the castle."

"What?!" Harry almost shouted as he rounded on her.

Minerva too looked in surprise from one to the other, obviously wondering how there could only be one who knew of this while they had been down there together, though the emotion showed for a mere split-second on her face. She schooled her features into determination when she asked, "You are quite certain of this, Miss Granger?"

"Yes," was all she could say for the moment, though in her mind she followed with her arguments. _There is only one person who cackles as she tortures and I would recognise the pain she causes me even if I would be blind and deaf._ Then she suddenly rushed to add, "She is very ill, she can barely sit upright. But her magical power hasn't weakened."

McGonagall did not hesitate, she brandished her wand and almost simultaneously her Patronus appeared, already in a dead sprint as it merged with the shadows, to reappear wherever the Head Auror was currently present.

"Potter, Granger, I would be very grateful if you could make sure that no one is present on the Second Floor, tell the paintings to ward off any wanderers. When that is done, return to the entrance of the Chamber, the Aurors and I will be there soon.

"Poppy has to be briefed in about the situation, in case we need her assistance. And I will see to it that Sir Nicholas awaits the arrival of the Aurors at the front doors of Hogwarts and escort them to the second-floor lavatory." The Professor got ready to leave, though she paused to give one last instruction to her two pupils, "I expect to see you two standing before a _still closed door_ to the Chamber of Secrets."

* * *

Poppy - who had not wanted to sit idle as she waited - and Minerva were both glad to see the Chamber's entrance still securely closed as they entered the lavatory, leaving the door open behind them. The two students did not even stand near the entrance. Meanwhile, they had a conversation in soft voices, which stopped the moment the Professors entered the bathroom.

"I received a message back from Robards, he and four Captains of his department are on their way. They will arrive here any moment." Was Minerva's way of greeting.

By the time the Aurors arrived the entrance was opened. All the while, Poppy had been and still was leaning over a cauldron and stirred the brew she had been making; there were bottles and herbs scattered everywhere over the surface of the transfigured table.

The Head of Aurors, Gawain Robards, took off his hat and gave a respectful nod to Minerva, "Headmistress, what is the cause of this abrupt summoning? I hope this is no light matter?"

Minerva answered him without missing a beat, "Bellatrix Lestrange has been found in the tunnels underneath Hogwarts, and she is still alive, though barely."

The Aurors (four men and one woman) took this in without so much as a twitch of their hands. With their experience, this was clearly not the weirdest thing that had crossed their paths.

Robards' eyes fell on the two students, _they have to be the ones to have found the witch, it is the only logical explanation for their presence._ Then he saw the lightning bolt and knew these two to be none other than Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. However, the admiration he felt for their achievements during the war did not take away the question he had as to why they had ventured through the tunnels.

He turned to his Captains and conducted a strategy with them. It was done within a minute, for they used code words and hand gestures, all taught to Aurors in their years of training. And when that was done the Aurors took the lead and began the descent into the labyrinth of tunnels.

Poppy stayed behind in the lavatory. The nurse's brew was still not ready and someone had to guard the entrance, in case helpers had strayed from their work and who would not heed the paintings orders to stay away from the second floor.

The wall of boulders was the only obstacle on their path, with the small to medium gaps in it. But, with so many strong and experienced wizards and witches, the wall was not that great of an enemy. One half of the group concentrated on keeping the ceiling from falling down while the other half took boulders away from the pile, levitated them back to the ceiling and made them merge once more with their original place. Within a quarter of an hour half of the wall was gone, a path as wide as an Abraxan horse was long could be safely walked through.

The group travelled mostly in charged silence, everyone with their wands in their hand. They only spoke when in need of directions. Harry and Hermione were kept at the end of the group, and all the while their Professor stayed close. Hermione knew that it was not because Minerva was incapable of fighting Bellatrix, no, she stayed close to her students in case they needed protection.

Truth be told, the Muggle-born appreciated the sentiment, but it also meant she could not partially transform herself in order to use her vixen ears, eyes or nose. Minerva would notice it at once, as any other Animagus would. And, admittedly, in the Lumos light the tunnels looked different than when she had been in her Animagus form. The shadows which were cast made their environment look creepier than it had been when they had been completely made of shadows.

Still, Hermione managed to give the group the correct directions; all too soon a rattling cough came from not that far away.

As one the group came to a halt, the Lumos' light was dimmed to its lowest shimmer and the Aurors showed some hand gestures to one another. Hermione could not help but be surprised that wizards used sign language. Harry was transfixed with everything they did, after all, he still wanted to become an Auror himself.

Suddenly Robards took a step towards Minerva and spoke softly, "We will take it over from here, this can get ugly. Stay here."

The Headmistress lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at him. Her voice was kept carefully neutral but the warning was still clear in her words, "Remember who you are talking to, Gawain. As for Mr Potter and Miss Granger, we all know what they have accomplished these last few months, so give them the respect they deserve."

To his credit, the man did not show any form of embarrassment, though the tightening of his jaws and shoulders did not go unnoticed by anyone. "Merely doing my job, Headmistress McGonagall, this was nothing personal."

Not one of the other bystanders said or did anything, they merely watched the exchange.

Robards gave up on his end of the argument and simply nodded his defeat. Then he signed for the Aurors to start the ambush and at once the five of them stalked into the darkness. Yet the moment they seemed to have disappeared in the shadows bulbs of light, different from any normal Lumos, were thrown into the air. The bulbs aligned themselves in perfect order, as if they were torches on the wall, a consistent distance between each of them.

The whole of the tunnel and beyond was lighted, but it was what laid just before the corner to another tunnel on which the Aurors were focussed. A pathetic heap of human on the floor; the dark mane tangled and greasy, dirt covered every surface on her clothes and body, and she had a starved look about her.

By now they had already crossed half of the distance. One of the Aurors had taken something out of the inner pocket of his coat, he now carried chains and a collar in both his hands, intended for capturing the Death Eater.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix' agony at the sudden light after days of intense darkness was apparent to the group as she hid her eyes in the crook of her elbow, though there came no obscure words or insults from her mouth. Just a wheeze with every breath she took. However, she was still able to throw minor hexes at the intruders with her free hand. Most of which were far from their marks, but they made coming closer still a dangerous task for the Aurors.

But it was five against one; a weak and sickly one. This was bound to be a short fight, if one could even call it a fight.

Four of the Aurors kept Bellatrix' hexes at bay, creating shields wherever the spells would land. It was the fifth with the chains and collar in his hands who would make the difference.

He took one of the chains in the hand of his throwing arm and as he did a round clump grew on the chain's end; the clump then formed itself into a noose of sorts. The Auror began to lasso and threw the chain just when Bellatrix took her elbow away from her eyes.

A surprised and infuriated yelp came from the Death Eater as the noose tightened around her wrists. At once the Auror pulled the roped taut, earning a grunt of pain from the heap on the floor, for her arm was forced to stretch painfully. He held the chain in both hands, the other chain and collar had fallen at his feet.

Another Auror came to pick up the chain at her comrade's feet and she was just as deft with the device in her hands. It was like the previous time, in a moment's notice Bellatrix' other wrist was shackled and now both her arms were forced to stretch in opposite directions. A grimace was clearly visible on her face, her eyes blazing with fury as they shot daggers at the Aurors.

Only now that she could no longer defend herself did the Death Eater begin to insult them, though her words were barely audible between her wheezy breathing and coughs. The exertion it had taken for Bellatrix to throw all those offensive spells had done nothing good to her current state of health. Which only angered Bellatrix all the more.

It was the Head of Aurors who took the collar in his hands and walked unceremoniously towards the shackled and practically fire breathing Bellatrix. The last two Aurors were ready to act if the Death Eater so much as twitched in the wrong direction. Their wands pointed at the vulnerable places on her body.

But Bellatrix only needed a second to spit in Robards' face and even though the Head of Aurors should have seen it coming, the spit still splattered right on his face.

The moment after that Bellatrix' body went limp from the multiple spells that had struck her, she fell to the ground, for the chains detected that she was unconscious and went slack to enable some space for movement, though the shackles were still tight around her wrists.

With a growl of disgust, Robards produced a tissue out of thin air and wiped his face off. Then he proceeded to put the collar around the woman's neck. In the deafening silence, the click could easily be heard by everyone. Then he fastened the shackles with a third and fourth chain onto the collar.

The two Aurors who held the chains came closer and all the while the chain magically shortened itself, after all, they needed a short leash on Bellatrix. Bogards took a few steps away from the captured woman, to ensure safety even though it was unlikely for her to awaken any time soon, and turned to look at Minerva, Harry and Hermione. The three had started to make their way towards him.

The Muggle-born halted a little bit earlier than the other two with no apparent reason, but to her it was like there was an invisible wall between Bellatrix and her which she could not breach. She felt detached from her own emotions as she observed the limp body, she knew that she felt fear and disgust, and yet the emotions seemed so far away. As if they were not hers to feel. Still, she was unable to tear her eyes away from her torturer. Unaware of what was going on around her.

Even whilst having a serious infection Bellatrix had been capable of casting the Cruciatus Curse and given a good attempt to defend herself. Not many a witch or wizard could say the same. Once more Hermione caught herself admiring the woman's skill. She tried to reproach herself for it, but she knew it was useless.

Unbeknownst to herself, Hermione clutched her left underarm, she was too preoccupied with herself and the questions that raced through her head. One in particular repeated itself over and over again.

_Why was she here?_

Why, in Merlin's-fucking-name, had Bellatrix sought shelter underneath Hogwarts? It was right under the noses of everyone who wanted her locked up, if not worse. So, even if she had managed to escape these tunnels... It made no sense, there was something they were not privy to, there had to be. Hermione eyed the tunnel with suspicion in her eyes, glancing feverishly around her in the hope to see what had kept Bellatrix alive in these tunnels.

Yet, a quick inspection of the surrounding tunnels done by the two Aurors without the chains had been fruitless, though there would be an investigation crew sent once Bellatrix was put safely behind bars.

Where _would_ she be put? Hermione was about to ask this question aloud when the Head Auror gave a sign with his hand.

One Auror pulled the chain in his hands, stretching Bellatrix' arm once more and at once the body stirred, it was in a way that reminded Hermione of someone being electrocuted. With a cough the Death Eater became conscious. Again she tried to push herself upright with the other hand but barely managed it. No one rushed to her aid when she fell back on the ground with a loud thud.

Hermione was almost shocked as she heard an exhausted sigh escape from Bellatrix, she had never thought the Death Eater to willingly give an impression of how she could possibly feel. Even without the use of any words.

Wordlessly the two Aurors used the chains to lift Bellatrix up by her arms. But instead of using their help to stand up the Death Eater stayed limp. Her head leaned sideways on her shoulder and bicep so that she could still delude herself that she was looking down her nose upon them all; her greasy, tangled mess of curls swayed in the rhythm as she was dragged like this through the tunnels, her feet bumped over the ground. Despite her obvious arrogance and the anger still visible in her eyes, she looked like someone who had given up hope, someone who was utterly defeated.

But this was Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who had worn the shackles that lead to her imprisonment in Azkaban with pride. Hermione did not once believe the woman to be without hope or a desire to fight back. And anyone who did was a complete and utter fool.

It was clear by now that each of the Aurors had been assigned a certain role and position before this whole debacle had started. They had worked in so structural a manner anyone could see the pattern in their commands and actions.

The two Aurors with the chains in hand walked ahead of their captive, the Head of Aurors walked close to Bellatrix, the tip of his wand always pointed at the woman, and the last two Aurors stayed at the back, to make sure nothing went amiss.

Minerva, Harry and Hermione were positioned at the front, to lead the way through the tunnels.

After a while, Harry opened his mouth and stated in a whisper, "You seem out of it, are you alright?"

Hermione made a noncommittal noise. A quick glance made him silence any further questions or statements he may have had. She was in no mood to converse, not with her torturer so near, even knowing that killing a certain Mudblood was - hopefully - not on the Death Eater's mind. Hermione wondered if Bellatrix was even aware of her presence and did the Death Eater even know who she had cursed, barely an hour ago.

With so many experienced fighters around her, Hermione should have felt safe. Yet, the fact was still, she did not. The rational part of her brain did see safety in the situation, but it was the illogical emotions that made the hairs of her neck stand on end.

Bellatrix was the whole way silent, except for a cough here and there. It was only when they reached the stairs that lead to the lavatory that the Death Eater began to grunt and curse again as she was made to stand up by leaning heavily on the shackles. Needless to say, the ascent of the Aurors with their captive was a slow one. The Professor and her two students reached the bathroom far sooner.

Hermione blinked against the light, even though they had used Lumos she still needed to adjust to the natural lighting. As she did, she could hear Minerva speak to Poppy Pomfrey, giving her a quick assessment of the situation. The nurse did not show any kind of surprise or anger, she kept her face devoid of emotion. As if it was not a Death Eater that was about to be brought before her, but just a regular student.

While she listened Poppy offered the three of them a diluted Pepper-Up Potion. "To make sure you three are not in any kind of shock," Pomfrey said kindly.

Naturally, Minerva refused the potion, stating she had no need for it. But the students were not allowed to refuse, the nurse quirked her eyebrow at them to make that much clear.

As they downed the liquid, sounds of a struggle could be heard from the stairs. Which was soon followed by the appearance of the two Aurors who helped - or rather forced - Bellatrix to walk the stairs with her own feet, while she still leaned heavily on the shackles and chains.

The moment natural light touched her skin Bellatrix tried to rush back into the shadows, hissing as she scrunched her eyes closed, but the chains would not budge and the Aurors actually pulled her roughly into the light. Making Bellatrix stumble and fall hard onto her knees. She grimaced and she spat at the ground, then she looked up at the two who held her chains with a feral grin on her face. "I will get you, just wait, one day I will cut that smile of yours away for good, Anderson." She rasped.

The Muggle-born felt a chill run up her spine, even though the threat was not directed at her.

The Head of Aurors spoke before Anderson could, "Keep quiet, Lestrange, no need to make this harder than it has to be." Then he turned to one of the Aurors, "Take the chain over from Byrne, Huáng. Byrne, search Lestrange and confiscate any kind of weapon she may carry on her body."

The Aurors both nodded their heads and did as they were told.

While this happened Pomfrey did what she was brought here to do. She cast several spells on the Death Eater, though there did not happen anything for a dozen seconds when suddenly a soft orange glow came from the tip of Pomfrey's wand and several symbols appeared in the air.

Hermione had no doubt that they told the nurse what ailed Bellatrix, or at least gave some kind of indication, though what exactly they meant was a mystery to the Muggle-born. Curiosity killed the cat. But just for a moment, she forgot that she was not even 10 metres apart from Bellatrix, leaning forward to watch Pomfrey's interaction with the symbols. She wanted to know more about this kind of spellcasting and made a mental note to pay a visit to the Hospital wing soon.

The nurse hummed as she looked at what her magic told her and turned to her finished potion. She dripped a dollop of the gooey liquid into a flask, then took another bottle and dripped some of its content into the flask. The cork was securely put on the flask, after which the nurse started to shake the object in her hand with fervour; the differing liquids had to mingle before being given to a patient.

Auror Byrne stepped away and stood at a safe distance from Bellatrix before she turned towards Bogards, "Lestrange has nothing on her, sir, not even a wand."

At the last words Bellatrix' eyes widened as if she was awakened from a daze, a dangerous glint had appeared in them. "Stolen, my wand was stolen! Filthy fucking Mudblood has it! I am going to -" Another fit of coughs silenced her, Bellatrix curled into herself as her body shook.

Pomfrey stepped forward, made eye contact with Huáng and Anderson, and with a simple gesture, they pulled the chains taut for her.

Bellatrix was forced to sit up as her arms were spread wide once more, she looked up with a grimace of fury on her face. Yet she said nothing when her eyes landed on Pomfrey.

"Please open your mouth, Bellatrix, and do _not_ bite me." The nurse kept herself neutral and yet, at the same time, there was something akin to kindness which lingered in both her speech and touch. She reached out and held the Death Eater's chin with one hand, whilst she poured the potion into Bellatrix' mouth with the other. And to Hermione's surprise, Bellatrix did nothing but close her eyes gulp the liquid down whenever there was enough in her mouth.

The image was a surreal one to Hermione, she would have never believed anyone if they had told her she would witness this with her own eyes someday.

When the last of the potion had been drunk Bellatrix slowly began to go limp once more and hung onto the chains, much like a puppet on strings. The Aurors did not miss a second, like a well-oiled machine they worked.

Bogards began a conversation in whispers with Professor McGonagall who mindlessly twirled her wand as she listened. Hermione knew her well enough to know from the expression on her face that Minerva was mentally readying herself for something. All the while, Huáng and Anderson made sure the collar, shackles and chains were fastened as they should and did not cut off any circulation. And Byrne and the still nameless Auror made Bellatrix travel-ready. In half a minute, the group was ready to depart.

Minerva took to stand between them and held out her arm for everyone to take a hold on her. And just before a loud crack echoed within the bathroom the Professor turned towards Poppy, Harry and Hermione and said, "I will be back within three minutes, please wait here for my return." Then they were gone.

Harry took this as an opportunity to begin the process of closing the Chamber's entrance.

All the while Hermione was mute with shock, had the Professor just _Apparated_ the group? On Hogwarts' grounds? But that was supposed to be impossible whilst the wards were up. And they had been active ever since the repairs on the castle had started.

The Muggle-born turned around to Poppy who was magicking most of the equipment she had stalled out back to her infirmary. "Madam Pomfrey, how was that even possible? She just Apparated and we all know that is not possible, not here. Where has she gone?"

Pomfrey did not look up as she rummaged through the last few bottles and herbs that were present, "Minerva merely went to the gates, where the Aurors can Apparate themselves, dear. She will be back in a jiffy."

"But how is it even pos-"

A barely audible pop interrupted Hermione's question and she faced the direction of the noise at once.

Minerva straightened herself the moment she reappeared, her back to the three other occupants of the room. She eyed the closed entrance for several seconds before she turned to them. And upon seeing Hermione's wonder she said not unkindly, "Remember, Miss Granger, I am Headmistress of Hogwarts now. Not only my title has changed."

Pomfrey was the only one to make some noise as she put the last flasks and bottles in the pockets of her apron. She brandished her wand and transfigured the table back into its original form: a sink. With a wave and a kind smile, the nurse said goodbye to Harry and Hermione, "Do stay healthy, you two. And don't ever hesitate to come to the hospital wing if you need me."

Then she made for the door, though not before she paused at Minerva's side and gently touched her shoulder, she muttered something only the Professor was able to hear.

Harry glanced towards Hermione and she looked right back at him, each took a step closer to the other.

When the nurse had left them, McGonagall laid her eyes once more upon the duo, her stare unflinching. She was unabashedly scrutinizing them.

Harry and Hermione almost felt like they were back in their first year, the moment after they had been caught doing something foolish. But there was a big difference between then and now: they had survived a war. The duo had faced far more fearsome foes than an 'observant, with a killer-stare McGonagall'. They held her eyes without looking away. That did not mean Harry and Hermione liked the stern look on Minerva's face, they were both fond of their Professor, after all, and they did not like to displease her.

After a long moment, Minerva sighed heavily and her expression softened ever so slightly, "I won't delude myself into believing that a stern word will make you two think twice about entering those tunnels again, but, please, for the sake of those who love you, _be careful_."

The two students lowered their eyes at this, guilt was written all over their faces. They were still not truly used to this kind of responsibility they held to others, months of being hunted and on the hunt had somewhat forced the care for their own safety out of their systems.

"But if it weren't for you two, we would never have found out about Bellatrix, and who knows what would have happened if she had returned to full health in the tunnels.

"Albus would have given you each a hundred Gryffindor points for foolish bravery, no doubt." And with this statement, a sparkle of amusement became visible in the woman's green eyes.

Harry met Minerva's eyes with a grateful smile, "Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

Hermione's relieve was visible in the way her shoulders lost some of the tension they had held.

"Well, I hope to see you two under different circumstances next time." The goodbye was a mix of a warning and a jest.

"Wait," Harry said and stepped forward, holding out his hand as if he had to touch Minerva in order to keep her here a minute longer, "I - no, we - wanted to invite you over for dinner, at the camp. We were planning a small feast tonight."

This garnered a smile from Minerva, though she declined the offer, "That is very sweet of you, but I have business to attend to. Perhaps another time."

"Is it Lestrange? Are you going to the Ministry, see where they put her?" Hermione could not keep the questions to herself, she _needed_ to know. Just like she needed to breathe.

"Indeed, I am, among other things," came the mysterious answer. "Try to get some rest tonight. Poppy can always provide you with a draught."

This time Minerva was not interrupted as she made her way out of the bathroom. The duo stared after their Professor, they stood there in silence long after her footsteps had faded. Harry was the one to break it as he put his hands into the pockets of his jacket and said, "We have to buy her something _grand_."

* * *

That night Hermione laid wide awake in bed, staring at the darkness around her. And had been doing so for quite some time. She could listen to Harry and Viktor's breathing without having to strain her ears. Their beds were that close. On each side she had a man sleeping peacefully. Viktor had always been able to fall asleep easily, something she envied many a time. And Harry had opted to take a Dreamless Sleeping Draught, obediently following Minerva's advice. So it would be some time before he would awaken.

_Perhaps I should take a glass of it as well,_ she could not help but think. Yet the moment the idea surfaced she dismissed it. No, it was too late for that, if she took it now she would not be awake till somewhere in the afternoon.

She would just have to clench her jaws and take the few hours of rest in stride. It was not like she was foreign to it, with the nightmare haunting her whenever she did not take the damned draught. There was always coffee to help her on the way as well.

It was not the restlessness she had felt during the day which kept her awake either. In fact, now that she pondered about it, the restlessness which had been present in her being for almost two days had been absent for several hours by now. There was no mistaking it because for hours she had been lying in bed without feeling the need to stand up and pace around like a caged animal.

A dreading suspicion in regards to the origin of the restlessness took hold of the Muggle-born. Had it been linked to Bellatrix, to the Death Eater's wellbeing? Was it the curse on her underarm that was the link? Or was it no link and had the curse on her arm just acted up in a different manner than Hermione was used to?

Bellatrix had been alive all along, just like Hermione had suspected since the moment just before she had gathered the books from the Restricted Section. Because when one was hit by the Killing Curse one did not dissolve into dust. And, so far, the books agreed.

But then _how_ had Bellatrix stayed alive? Had her dead at the hands of Molly been an optical illusion? One which was so utterly in everyone's face - and which would have been so painfully obvious in any other situation - that it had been overlooked by the masses?

Hermione remembered the fascinating and lethal enchantments the Death Eater had left in the tunnels of Gringotts. Had Bellatrix used the same form of enchanting to create the illusion, if she had used any at all?

What about the energy emitted by the Killing Curse? Had Bellatrix used that in order to escape? Was that even possible?

The Muggle-born groaned softly in frustration whilst she put her hands over her eyes. No matter what she tried, tonight her thoughts circled around the one person she wanted to think as little about as possible. It was not a strange occurrence, with everything that had happened during the day, but it was still unwanted.

She needed a distraction, but reading her books was no option, for they too were linked to Bellatrix. And for once Hermione just did not want to use her brain all that much.

Gathering her focus she concentrated once more on the breathing of the two men in the room. She turned to face the direction from where Viktor's sounds came from. What if she would wake him? Would he be annoyed with her? She had never really been in such a predicament before.

Her naked feet made no noise on the wooden planks, though she only needed to take two steps and she was already at Viktor's bedside. She sat down on her knees and reached out for her lover. His underarm was the first she felt under her touch, from there her hand travelled over to his shoulder and neck, to settle on his cheek. With a gentle caress, she made sure his hair was out of his eyes. And sitting like this, while she enjoyed the way his skin and hair felt underneath her fingertips, she waited for him to awaken.

Slowly he stirred and once he was conscious enough he tried to ask, "Hermy-own-ninny? _Is that you? Is something wrong?"_

_"Yes, it's me, and yes, in fact, there is something terribly wrong,"_ her voice had a seductive undertone, though she was not sure if Viktor had a clear enough mind to notice it, _"I can't sleep and I need your help to remedy that."_

From the moment they laid down on the temporary transfigured bed in the living room Hermione was freed from the circling thoughts that had pestered her the past couple of hours.

* * *

While her two men prepared breakfast Hermione decided to make a quick visit to Minerva, that is, if she was able to track her down. With any luck, the older woman was still in her office.

And luck was indeed on her side. She poked her head around the door and saw Minerva look up from her correspondence to see who had opened her door after a quiet knock. With a gesture of her hand, McGonagall motioned for Hermione to sit down opposite of her, "Pardon me, but I need to finish this letter before I can help you. If you would be so kind as to wait in the chair."

"Of course, take your time, Professor."

During the wait, a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers appeared at the side of the desk. Hermione contented herself with pouring them both a cup.

Minerva put her quill down after she had signed the letter, put the parchment into an envelope and magically sealed it. Then she placed it on the stack of finished letters to her right.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Minerva said whilst she picked up her cup and gave a grateful nod as she looked over the rim of her glasses, "am I too presumptuous to believe that you came here for an update on Mrs Lestrange's whereabouts?"

The younger woman smiled ruefully over her cup, "It is what I came here for, so you aren't too presumptuous, in my opinion."

The Professor observed the student on the other side of her desk. Hermione had undergone a change in character, some personality traits had sharpened whereas others had softened. Even with their limited interactions, Minerva had noticed the change. She wanted to offer her office as a place, a safe haven, to come during the evenings and talk through the trauma Hermione had undergone during the war. There was obviously something haunting the young woman. But Minerva simply had not the time to do so. Merlin knew how little sleep she already got, with the reconstruction of not only Hogwarts but most of wizarding Britain as well, not to speak of the reformation in both the whole of the Ministry and the Wizengamot. And soon the preparations for the new school year had to begin, for there were far too few capable Professors who had survived the Second War.

There was too much on her plate as it was, so, instead of contemplating if this was an unhealthy way of processing past experiences Minerva caved in and simply told the young woman before her what she wanted to know, "She is held captive in an improvised cell in St. Mungos where she is receiving treatment. All the while she is kept shackled and chained, dosed and guarded around the clock.

"This is a temporary place, however. When Lestrange is fit enough to be transported she will be moved to a proper place of confinement."

Hermione took a sip as she let the words sink in.

Minerva put her cooling tea back on the saucer, she already regretted telling her student the truth. "Are you planning a visit to Mrs Lestrange?" After a moment of hesitation, she got a nod in response.

Hermione realized that Minerva had the mind to forbid her and the power to make it impossible for her to pay a visit to Bellatrix in her cell. But still, the Muggle-born thought it best to be honest. Besides, her wish to make a visit was quite transparent, lying about it would be foolish and hurtful.

For a long time, neither of them said anything, a period in which Minerva practically dissected Hermione with her eyes, who in turn observed her Professor's face, trying to see underneath the charms that kept Minerva's appearance impeccable. But, obviously, she did not succeed.

"I will message you with the exact location when Lestrange is no longer in a critical condition," Minerva said with a sigh as she banished her cold tea.

"Thank you, Headmistress. It means a lot to me."

"Just be careful when you go, Miss Granger. And until the start of the new school year, there is no need to call me that yet."

* * *

Luna discussed the purpose of lucid dreaming with Viktor and Harry. Hermione, who had her arm hooked with the Ravenclaw, was merely listening to them whilst they made their way through Muggle London. She had her own thoughts on the subject but felt no particular desire to share them.

Harry and she had bought new clothes, which were currently all stowed in her shoulder bag. Viktor and Harry had needed new shoes as well, so while they had been busy with that, Hermione had taken Luna to a bookstore and shown her some of the famous Muggle authors. And, of course, bought several of those books, since her personal collection had been lost with her previous bag when the Trio had been captured.

The group was on their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, where they would meet up with Ron, Ginny and Neville, to catch up and just be around one another. Though, another reason for the gathering was that some of them needed a new wand, their own being destroyed or lost somewhere during the war or the Battle at Hogwarts.

And so, after hugs or smiles and handshakes, the group of seven took a table at the tavern and while each was enjoying some kind of beverage the conversation went from the war to the future, from heavy to other more light-hearted subjects.

When two hours had past Neville noted that it was time to go to Ollivander, if they still wanted to get a new wand. The shops would close within an hour. Hermione smiled as she saw Neville get nervous and annoyed at the slow pace of the group. He glanced for the third time at his watch and as he looked up again he caught the young woman observing him.

The surprise on his face made Hermione wonder what there was to be surprised about, surely it was not strange for a friend to watch a friend? _Though that was what started the strange tenseness between Fleur and me,_ Hermione worried to herself. _Is it something in my eyes that unsettles people?_

However, before her worries could truly manifest themselves Neville made them disappear to the depths of her mind, for a few seconds later Neville smiled his fond smile at her and his whole face lit up with it.

A minute later the group made their way through Diagon Alley. With as destination the rebuild wand store from Ollivander.

At a certain adjoined allay Hermione had to split from the group, stating that she needed to order some books. Harry and Viktor knew of this, she had informed them beforehand. Thus, it was of no surprise to her when Viktor wordlessly joined her.

Before long the rest of the group walked into the shop, a bell chiming softly as the front door opened. A shuffling could be heard from the back of the store while the group settled and waited. Harry stood nearest to the counter, wanting to apologize for the way he had behaved back at Shell Cottage.

The moment the old wandmaker came in sight and let his eyes fall on the individuals a broad smile appeared on his weathered face, yet it faltered slightly as his eyes roamed from face to face. Though he beamed once more when he met Harry's eyes again.

"Mister Olliv-" he began but was interrupted by the man himself.

"Mister Potter, it is such an honour that you came back for a new wand! I am still aggrieved for what happened to the previous one. But let's hope there is even a better match to be found today."

"That won't be necessary, Mister Ollivander," Harry said kindly, "we came here for Luna, Ron and Ginny."

Ron shared a look with him, he understood that their knowledge was better kept a secret. The fewer people who knew about the powers of the Elder wand, the better. Thus, before anyone could ask any questions he broke out a smile, looked at Luna and said as smoothly as he could, "Well, Luna, why don't you go first?"

* * *

Meanwhile, Hermione and Viktor walked hand in hand to Obscurus Books, enjoying the sights the shopping district had to offer, though it was still far from its former glory. But at least there were no longer buildings with broken windows or other damaged goods.

_"What do you think of the others? Of my friends?"_ Hermione asked in Bulgarian. It would give them far more privacy and, honestly, they often - if not always - conversed in his mother tongue when there were no friends or acquaintances around.

She asked this because, until now, Viktor had never really been with her friends for longer than an hour (with the exception for Harry, they had been living together at camp, after all). It had not been intentional, but all these years Hermione had gone to Bulgaria during the summers, it had never been the other way around; it was just inconvenient with Viktor's Quidditch training and besides, she liked being in another country and experiencing the different culture.

_"It was fine, they are fine,"_ Viktor said absentmindedly, his eyes on the broom shop further down the alley.

_"We can go there if you wish?"_ Hermione said after she had followed his stare. _"But let me first order my books, then we can stay there till closing time."_

He smiled at her and followed her inside the bookstore. She did not look around at the books on the bookshelves, aware that she would not be able to leave the shop without at least half a dozen books she did not come here for. Instead, she made a beeline for the counter. At which no one but the shop clerk was standing.

He was a thin boyish-looking man, though Hermione suspected he was a few years older than she was. His eyes became as round as saucers when they fell on Hermione, he straightened at once with a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. Which turned into a glimmer of hero worship the moment he saw who was walking beside her, with his hand comfortably entwined with hers.

"Mister Krum, i-it is an h-honour," stammered the clerk.

The couple mostly ignored it; Viktor was used to it and had no difficulty to bring his features in a neutral expression as he nodded, but Hermione could still feel uncomfortable at being faced with such behaviour sometimes. She steeled herself however and told the clerk the titles and authors of the books she wanted to order.

"O-of course, Miss Granger, the order will go out at once!" He said whilst writing down everything. "These are some rare books, but you have come to the right place, Miss, we will make sure to have them ready for you! And you probably already know, but I am telling you just to be sure: you will be notified when the books have arrived. Thank you for using our services, Miss Granger. I - uhm, _we_ couldn't be prouder."

Both Viktor and she were grateful to walk out the front door and in the direction of the broomstore. They could hope that the people there would be a bit more down to earth. Which was perhaps a little foolish, since it was a store that specialised in Quidditch equipment besides the brooms.

* * *

When the couple arrived at the wandstore they let go of each other's hands and walked inside. By now Ron was the one being tended to by Ollivander, who was completely fixated on the reactions of the wands and talking excitedly to the young man he had before him.

Harry grinned as Hermione and Viktor came over to the group, "Took you two long enough, you missed a bunch of sparkles and some weird magic, but look here." He motioned to Luna, who carefully held up her new wand, like a proud mother with her new-born child. The colour of the wood was a leather-worn brown, with dark lines adorning it, giving the wood the impression as if it curled around its axis. The handle had a slight wave at the end.

"It is beautiful, Luna, absolutely stunning," Hermione said with an admiring tone.

The Ravenclaw showed a dreamy smile, "Made of Hazelwood, with a Unicorn's hair as the core, it's 11 1/4 inches long and slightly springy."

Ginny threw an arm over Luna's shoulders and added with a big grin, "Ollivander said he had wondered who would become the owner of this one. And that he no longer had to worry about it, now that he knew that Luna would take care of it."

Viktor asked Luna something, about the character of the wand and Hermione listened with interest for the answer. But before Luna could even really begin Ollivander exclaimed happily at that moment, which distracted her. She looked over at him and Ron.

"That is it! This is the chemistry the wand and you need. Now, please, be more careful this time around, Mister Weasley. No need to break this one, nor lose it."

Ron shrugged with a look of embarrassment on his face, "Third time is the charm, right?"

Though he sounded far too uncertain in Ollivander's ears. For a moment the old wandmaker wavered, almost as if he wanted to take back the wand in order to keep it safe from a horrible fate. But at last, he shook his head and turned to search for the other redhead in his shop. That was when he noticed the two new arrivals and the shorter one made his beaming grin return, "Ah, Miss Granger! What a pleasant surprise. Well, not really a surprise since your friends are here, but it is still a pleasant thing for you to visit. I began to wonder if you still remembered my promise to you, for I have, you know."

The young woman in question smiled politely and had her response ready, "Good evening, Mister Ollivander. It is good to see you back in your shop."

"And it certainly feels fantastic as well. Made sure the workers repaired it just the way it was. Something Meribeth is not too happy about, says it gets too stuffy. Pft. The girl doesn't know what she is talking about." Ollivander waved the air as if he had to get rid of an annoying fly, then he turned his attention back to their conversation. "Now, how about a new wand for you, sweet girl?"

Hermione felt touched by his willingness to keep his promise, but she declined nonetheless, "Perhaps another time, sir, there isn't much time left and Ginny still needs a new wand as well." It was the perfect excuse, a beautiful white lie, no one would think twice about it.

"Well then, if you are certain about it." Ollivander looked her over a moment longer, time in which Hermione began to wonder if her excuse was not as foolproof as she had believed. When he turned towards Ginny, however, he was smiling once again, "That leaves you, Miss Weasley. Ready for your new wand? I believe I know which of my wands matches you perfectly well."

The old wandmaker was busy shuffling through the small corridor at the side, knowing with precision where he would find the wand he had in mind. Ginny bounded over to the counter and leaned forward to see every movement Ollivander made.

Meanwhile, Viktor was still listening intently to what Luna was telling about the reactions of the wand when she created the first spell.

"- and after that, a soft and warm tingle ran from my fingers up my arm. It was like the feeling I get when I watch rain dance over a lake."

* * *

After the three had paid, the group thanked Ollivander gratefully for his services. He grinned from behind the counter and reminded them to take good care of their wands.

"Let's celebrate," Neville said as they walked out on the street. "Let's have a drink to celebrate the newly purchased wands."

"Grand idea, mate!" Ron said and clapped Neville on the back, with a beaming face he looked around at the others for agreement. "Honestly, I could do with some food as well."

"That's the thing, Ron, you can always eat," Ginny rolled her eyes, "though, truth be told, it has been hours since we had lunch."

"I would like to stay here longer as well," Luna commented, "It is good for the mind to be in places that had previously been neglected or destroyed."

"Then let's head back to the Leaky Cauldron," Harry decided. "Their home-made meals are very tasty. At least, a few years back they were."

* * *

Night had fallen a long time ago when the three of them arrived back at their tent. Half of the remaining camp seemed already sound asleep.

Hermione considered what to do in regards to Fleur's borrowed clothes. She should probably wait till morning to give back what belonged to the French woman. Then again, she could go there right now and see if there was still anyone awake to give the clothes to. But, honestly, she did not feel like going, Hermione was tired and the idea of seeing the quarter-Veela now made her feel uneasy. Not that it would be different any other time; that last conversation and the awkwardness was just too fresh in her memories. But she was aware that the prospect of waiting any longer with returning the borrowed clothes did not feel good either.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair to get some curls out of her eyes; she was still on the fence in regards to this.

"What has you so tense all of a sudden?" Harry inquired as he walked past her with a book about Quidditch techniques in hand. He had been meaning to talk with Viktor through some of the techniques described in the book.

Hermione busied herself with gathering the mugs on the table as she answered, "I am contemplating if I should bring Fleur her clothes, but I don't feel like going right now."

"Then wait till you do," he said over his shoulder.

"But she has been waiting for so long already. And now that I have my own clothes I should bring them to her. Shouldn't I?"

"I doubt that Fleur will make a fuss if you wait one or two more days. But if it really bothers you, then you should bring those clothes back tonight." He said and sat down on the couch.

"Yeah, you are probably right... But what about the time? Isn't it far too late for me to go there now?"

"As I said, do what feels right. You can wait till tomorrow morning if that is what you want."

"But I can't make her wait longer than necessary, Harry, that would just be lousy of me," she said as she put the mugs in the sink.

Harry held his hands and book up in the air, in an exasperated gesture, he was obviously already tired of the circling discussion, "Then _go_. Hermione, Fleur won't be insulted one way or another, just _talk_ to her. Explain yourself." He had turned around in his seat in order to look at her, Harry was no longer only talking about bringing back those clothes.

She knew he was right and gave a half-hearted nod. With another heavy sigh, Hermione went to the bedroom, to make sure she had all of Fleur's clothing. She would do it now.

In her new black jeans and a light-blue blouse, Hermione made her way through the camp, her shoulder bag in one hand. She would not risk carrying the clothes in her arms, fearing the smaller pieces - like socks - might unnoticedly fall to the ground or be taken up by a gust of wind never to return. It was cold outside, but she would manage the short distance.

Hermione knocked on the front flap (which was enchanted to function just like a wooden door in case people needed to knock, just like all other magical tents) and spoke up, "Good evening, is Fleur still awake? Can I come in?"

"Indeed, I am," came Fleur's voice, followed closely by the sound of wards being taken down, "come on in."

A young man Hermione did not recognize sat in the seating area of the living room with William and Fleur. They all had clearly been enjoying a conversation accompanied by some Firewiskey, if the bottles were anything to go by. Hermione felt her unease triple as her gaze ran over the scene. She should not have come.

"Sorry for disturbing, but I brought you your clothes." She said awkwardly and held her bag up as if she needed the evidence.

"Zhat is alrigz, let me -" Fleur struggled up from her seat in the chair. "Let me 'elp you. Or, non, zhe closet, my closet. Bring you zere, oui?" Hermione noticed how intense her French accent was, now that alcohol ran through the quarter-Veela's bloodstream. It was like Fleur had never outgrown it.

There was the slightest sway in Fleur's walk as she came towards Hermione. Meanwhile, William merrily asked from his seat, "Want a drink, Hermione?"

The Muggle-born shook her head and forced a smile, she did not worry if it was a convincing one or not. These three were far too tipsy - or downright drunk - to see the difference. Now that her eyes had gotten accustomed to the low lighting in the tent, she could see more details (other than the bottles of wine). The red flush on the noses and cheeks of the three being the most important of those details.

Fleur swayed to the corridor that lead to the bedroom and motioned for Hermione to follow, who obediently went after her. They did not talk to one another. Although Fleur repeatedly muttered to herself in French, but it was too slurred for Hermione to understand the words.

When they were in the bedroom the French woman opened the closet doors, stood there for a few seconds, and then turned around and made for her bed to plop down upon it. She sat there like a queen on her throne, looking down her nose on her subject.

For a moment Hermione merely watched Fleur watch her, feeling both disbelieve and annoyance at the quarter-Veela's behaviour. Yet, in the end, she shrugged the annoyance away, mentally repeating to herself that Fleur was drunk, that it could not be helped. Without another glance at the older woman, nor a single word, she started for the closet to put all the clothes where she suspected they belonged. She pulled them from her bag which currently laid at her feet.

As she did so the Muggle-born debated with herself if it would be wise to discuss the garden-incident now. Most of her being was definitely against the notion, but there was this tiny part of her that wanted to speak up about it now. To be done with it. After all, there is the saying that 'a drunk mind speaks a sober heart'. Though, Hermione highly doubted this to be true. And besides, Fleur needed to be able to remember their conversation the next day, which was highly unlikely at this point. Which meant it would be all for nought.

"You 'ave been avoiding me, righz, 'Ermione?" Fleur's question cut through the silence but she did not wait for an answer, in fact, she answered it herself, "Yes, you 'ave. Zhough I know you 'ave been important elsewhere. And I 'ave been avoiding you as well. Which, 'onestly, eet was not zhat 'ard, since you are never 'ere."

The younger woman kept silent as she continued with folding the clothes, she was almost halfway done.

"I 'ave been doing work een zhe camp, whenever I am not needed een one meeting or anozher. Zhey always seem to find a reason to get togezher. Foolish men."

Hermione wanted to let her shoulders droop, but that would give the wrong impression so she kept a straight back as she wondered how Fleur could be such a weird drunk; she acted so high and mighty. Or had she, Hermione, been blind to this side of Fleur during her stay at Shell Cottage? Had 15-year-old Hermione been correct to think of Fleur as an arrogant snob? She could hardly believe the thought, _no, just... no. Fleur is not like that, that is not the Fleur I befriended in Shell Cottage._

It _had_ to be the alcohol; some people are happy drunks, others are aggressive drunks or whatever-else drunks, and apparently, there were a select few - one being Fleur - who are better-than-thou drunks.

_Or is it something else?_ Hermione wondered again, _am I missing something? Forgetting something crucial for the equation? Is it her Veela heritage?_

With these thoughts, the Muggle-born put the last garment on the hanger and into the closet. "I put everything in your closet, Fleur." She said as she turned back around to face her companion, "So, I will be going."

Fleur blinked in surprise at Hermione's statement, her eyes were practically black because of her dilated pupils. "But... But where are you going? 'Ow can I take care of you eef you go away?"

Now it was Hermione's time to blink in surprise, where was this coming from all of a sudden? Can drunks be overtly caring and snobby at the same time? Or did drunkenness go in phases? She had no idea. Viktor rarely touched alcohol with his strict Quidditch regime, Harry was the sleepy and sad drunk whereas Ron was the happy drunk. At least whenever she had been there to witness it.

"I... Uhm... I am just on the other side of the camp," somehow she got the feeling that pointing out that she did not need to be taken care of would not do much good to the conversation.

"Righz, I knew zhat. You gave me breakfast, I remember." Fleur rubbed her face with her hands then looked distractedly towards the open door from which came laughter of the two drunk men in the living room.

_Is she sobering up?_ Hermione decided she would not stay to find out, she wanted to go to bed. She made her way to the door but spun around as she reached it. "Good night, Fleur. I want to talk to you soon, but I don't think that right now is a good idea."

"Bonne nuit, 'Ermione." Came the simple French reply.

The two men did not even notice her exit and that was perfectly fine with her. As Hermione walked through the cold night air she felt grateful that Viktor rarely touched alcohol; she did not know what she would do if he was a snobby drunk like Fleur.

Hermione had given all the clothes back. All but one. Within the safety of her shoulder bag, there was still the sweater with the bloodstains on it, which did not want to get out of the fabric. She reasoned with herself that she could hardly give Fleur back a piece of clothing covered in old blood. The fact that she had not bought herself a new sweater because of this reason was easily ignored for the time being. And it had certainly nothing to do with the fact that, once in a while, she believed she could still catch the scent of Fleur in the sweater's fabric.

When she returned to the tent only Viktor was left in the living room. He lay all over the couch, his eyes were closed. Looking as if he were fast asleep. His breathing was even however, so she knew he was still awake. For a moment she watched how the shadows cast by the dim light made him look a lot older, and still, she found him attractive. She broke the figurative spell after half a dozen seconds and put the wards up, for once feeling the need to murmur the incantations aloud. She was too tired and distracted by what had just happened in Fleur's tent to do them non-verbally. When that was done she kicked off her boots and put her bag on the table before making her way over to the couch.

_"You think I can fit in next to you?"_ she asked softly as she neared. _"Or shall I expand the surface?"_

Viktor cracked his eyes open and spread his arms out to her, _"Lay on top of me, I am cold."_ His smile told her the contrary was true, but she made no remark on it, she hummed instead.

After some manoeuvring, accompanied with a giggle from her, Hermione laid with her head on Viktor's chest and her arms a bit haphazardly over and around him. Whilst he had her wrapped securely in his arms. After a few seconds of lying like this, he took a deep breath, kept it caged within him, and let it go free. With it, his body relaxed underneath her. All the while she was listening to his heartbeat, her eyes closed; she too felt like the tension was being drained out of her body.

She felt like she could easily fall asleep to the drum of Viktor's heartbeat, but first, she wanted a real answer to a question she had asked a few hours earlier.

_"So, what about today, did you enjoy being around my friends?"_

_"No, it was horrible, they were awful and their humour is dry and -"_ She hit him playfully on his arm which made him laugh, _"No, really, they were horrible to me, they tried to_ befriend _me, Hermione."_

_"Why do I love you?"_

_"Because I am a world-famous Quidditch player, of course."_

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at him, a very unimpressed look on her face. And in her driest tone of voice, she said, "Right, how could I have forgotten."

He laughed again, which made her grin in satisfaction. Viktor cupped her cheeks and brought his lips to hers.

* * *

Fleur gripped her head as a groan slipped from between her lips. Luckily the room was still relatively dark, despite the light that seeped in from the open door, or she would have even worse pains than the current throbbing headache. She needed a potion and several glasses of water.

With careful movements she came out from under the blanket, only now noticing that the space beside her was empty and had not been slept in at all. The room danced before her eyes as she managed to stand up, clutching the nightstand for support. She reached for her stomach and held a hand full of clothes. Luckily, she did not have to run for the toilet, other than being hungover her body was relatively calm. When she looked down she saw the clothes from the day before. Fleur realized she had never taken them off.

When she finally - for she walked at the speed of her grand-mère, with one hand on the wall at all times - entered the living room she saw on her way to the kitchenette that Bill and Hendrik had fallen asleep in their seats. They would have stiff necks for the rest of the day, of that she was sure.

First, she went to the cupboard to get the potion she needed to lessen her headache and after she had gulped that down she reached for a glass and a can to fill the latter with water so that she could take a seat at the dining table.

All the while she tried to remember what had happened the night before. Why had she ended up in the bedroom, falling asleep without even taking off her clothes, whilst the men had not moved a hair from their places?

Slowly, as she sipped her second glass of water, memories trickled into existence. Hendrik stating that he needed to go to his own tent before he could no longer walk, which Bill and she had not allowed, saying that they would transfigure a bed for him. But then more wine and laughter had followed. And after that, her memories were all too fuzzy.

Someone had entered their house? Had Fleur helped them find something? She was not sure if she had. The French woman took the can and refilled her glass and sipped her water again. Her eyes stared blindly at the bookcase in the corner of the room, an image was forming in the fog of her mind. It was Hermione, who had been watching her curiously, with disbelief visible in her eyes. Which became an expression of disinterest the moment Hermione shrugged her shoulders; as if she had mentally distanced herself from whatever Fleur had said or done.

Dread knotted in her stomach, but no matter how Fleur tried to clear her mind, she could not remember what had been said between the two of them. She closed her eyes, moved her head to let her forehead rest in the palm of her hand and muttered softly her regret into the silence, "Merdre..."

* * *

"I am going to the Owlery for a bit, be right back!" Harry said as he looked from outside through the open front flap into the tent.

Hermione waved him goodbye, though he was already gone. All the while she munched on her toast and popped a slice of cucumber in her mouth to add more taste. In her mind, she was going over what she could do for the day, perhaps retreat to the library and continue her research there. She had no desire to be surrounded by many people. The nightmare had stalked her dreams and had made her sleep practically useless, as always. And as a result, she felt mentally battered. Especially since the previous day had been so eventful. Not for the first time, Hermione told herself she should have taken the Dreamless Sleeping draught.

The Muggle-born sighed in both defeat and relief, _At least I can just be_ _with my books and read in my favourite chair in the library, with no one to bother me._

She was about to take another bite from her food when a barn owl flew through the open front flap of the tent. It dropped a small piece of parchment on the table, made a U-turn in the air and flew right out of the tent again.

A bit confused by the strange behaviour of the owl Hermione grabbed what the owl had dropped for her. Most often the delivery flyers wanted a treat for all their hard work, which was reasonable. But she did not let the owl's behaviour bother her for long, the message in her hand was that much more interesting. It was a short message written in a handwriting Hermione would recognize anywhere.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_This morning I was told that Mrs Lestrange is no longer in a critical condition, though she is far from being declared recovered. I advise you to wait a day or two before you make the visit._

_They still keep her at St. Mungos. On the outskirts of corridor 121, which is the_ _department_ _for mental health crises. The number of her 'room' is 0.529._

_Be careful, Hermione, even though Lestrange is kept under surveillance she is still a dangerous woman._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

Hermione knew she should wait for Harry to return, at which point she could tell him what she wanted to do. She knew she had to give him the opportunity to protest and when that would not succeed in making her rethink the idea, let him demand that he would go with her. She knew that if she did not wait for him that he would be angry with her. And that, in his anger, he would likely unintentionally mention her torture to Viktor, who she had yet to tell about the events at Malfoy Manor; there was still so much about the war she had not told him about. And she knew that after hearing that from Harry Viktor would be cross with her too.

And yet, despite knowing all of this, she did not wait.


	13. Improvised Therapy, part b

It was more than mere stupidity which had made her do it. Curiosity played an important role as well. But it was this dark emotion which had made the decision for her. Anger had set its teeth in her. It had been there for a long time, but only now did Hermione recognize it. Perhaps because it had always been overshadowed by mortal fear.

Memories of the pain and the nights haunted by the nightmare were the fuel. Anger and curiosity burned in Hermione as she made her way towards St. Mungos.

* * *

Despite having taken a Pepper-Up potion Fleur still needed her sunglasses to walk in the bright daylight. Though she was in a far better condition than her husband, who had been groaning in pain when she had exited their tent.

During breakfast, she had been able to gather her courage, which currently gave her the confidence to walk with her chin held high. Naturally, she would apologize for whatever she had said, but she would _not_ grovel. A Delacour does _not_ grovel; her mother, grand-mère and dozens of Veela-aunts had taught her this well. Not that there was any cause to grovel, Fleur was almost positive that she had not done anything harsh enough to warrant such drastic actions. But it was still reassuring to hear their familiar voices inside her head, it strengthened her resolve.

It was a relieve to walk into the shadows of the one tent she had been avoiding until now. She opened the front flap of the tent and called inside, cringing at her own volume, "'Ello? Anyone there?"

"Fleur, something you need?" Viktor came from the bathroom, still drying his hand on his trousers as he walked inside the living room.

"Good morning, Viktor. Where is 'Ermione? I would like to talk with 'er," Fleur said, putting her sunglasses on top of her head.

The Bulgarian frowned as he told what little he knew, "She is not here, she left a note that said she vould be gone for most of the day. But she did not take the time to clarify vhere to."

"Oh, well..." Fleur was surprised, surely this was not the next stage of avoidance? Had she been worse than she thought she had been? "So... yesterday evening... did she mention anything about... me?"

"No, vhy?" Viktor frowned still, his dark eyes suddenly scrutinizing her.

The quarter-Veela sighed and recounted to Viktor what little she remembered of the previous night.

* * *

Hermione made sure she stood as still as a statue. Yet inside her, she battled her emotions with her rationality or tried to.

She was aware that the general human being would be questioning their own sanity at this point, she even knew the perfect question she should be asking herself: _'What the bloody fuck am I doing here?'_. Yet, instead, her emotions clearly had the upper hand, none of her rational thoughts stayed longer than a few seconds before being dismissed.

A cough caught her attention, "Ahem, Miss Granger, _please_ keep your arms at your sides. It is almost done."

_Oops,_ that was the second time she had started to fidget with the seams of her clothes. She gave an apologetic glance and straightened her arms. Trying and failing once more to distract herself by concentrating on the scanning spells which circled up and down her body.

"You are clean." The Auror announced and motioned over his shoulder, "Sign your name on the visitor's list and you can go inside."

Whilst she wrote her name the time and date appeared in her own handwriting underneath. The list was completely empty except for her own signature, which seemed to glare at her from the parchment. _Why hasn't Narcissa been here yet?_ Could it be that she was not informed of her sister's surprising 'resurrection'?

When Hermione put down the quill the other Auror, who had stood near the wall, came forward and opened the double doors for her. "We will keep the doors open, just in case."

Hermione nodded without giving the Auror much thought and took the first step over the threshold.

A deadening and eerie silence came to greet her from the other far end of the corridor, it felt like it had come to suffocate her. There was no screaming, no creepy sing-song voice, no insults nor any maddening cackles. Not any kind of sound other than the conversations from the hallways she had just come from and which was steadily becoming a soft murmur in the background due to the growing distance. Though her walk was slow.

All the while her eyes roamed over her surroundings. The white cleanness of the hospital clashed with the bars of the improvised prison cells. Walls that had previously separated rooms from this corridor had been transfigured into the bars of prison cells. Now anyone who walked through the corridor could see everything that happened inside the 'rooms'.

The lack of other living beings in this corridor was almost creepy. Though it fitted perfectly with the crisp and white environment.

Empty, unmade beds, with no one to sit on the single chair every cell was equipped with; no one to leer at her or make her feel unwelcome in other ways.

For a moment Hermione wondered if Bellatrix had done nothing but shriek abuse at the other prisoners until they had been put in another corridor, but then she remembered Minerva's words. Bellatrix had been kept 'dosed', therefore one could assume she was kept quiet. There were no others who had been put here, Bellatrix was just the only one crazy enough apparently.

The Muggle-born halted before the only occupied room and looked inside. It was the craziest thing really, to be looking at Bellatrix like she was one of the wild or prison-bred animals the zoos offered to their visitors to be watched all day long.

However, instead of a nervously pacing, black panther, there was complete serenity in the cell.

Hermione's tormentor seemed to be asleep. Her body was entirely hidden underneath a thick blanket, the only part of her which was visible was her dark mane. Curls that were no longer greasy and tangled. Instead, they splayed all over the pillow in a cascade of black. It seemed to be made of rich ebony, almost like the scales of the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione was torn between setting fire to it all - a desire born from her curiosity, to see how Bellatrix would handle pain, and her (strangled) anger - and walking from left to right and back again, to admire the different hues hidden within the waterfall of curls.

Yet she did neither. She was rooted to the ground. All Hermione could do was observing what was in front of her. Then, suddenly, she noticed how motionless Bellatrix laid there. Far too motionless, as if breathless. Bellatrix was actually not breathing at all. Was she dead? Had she somehow escaped and left her hair to fool the guards?

The Muggle-born was about to open her mouth and yell for the Aurors when something made her stop. It was the crucial detail she had overlooked. Hermione shook her head, blinked and rubbed her eyes. Then she narrowed her eyes, leaned forward, took a step closer to the bars and even leaned against them to be completely certain of what she thought she saw. And only at this point was she able to discern the subtle and impossibly slow in- and exhales.

"They keep her dosed to the point that she is barely alive," Hermione whispered aloud in shock. _Have they slowed down her heartbeat? That is the only way for this to be possible, isn't it? Do they use potions to establish this state of the body?_

"It is a combination of potions and charms, also one enchantment on the bed," came a sudden and unfamiliar voice from the direction of the Aurors. "That is how we keep her in this state."

The Muggle-born stiffened at the words, the voice almost sounded harsh to her ears in this noiseless environment. She quickly stepped away from the bars, turned towards the open doors and was faced with none other than the ex-Auror who had become a Mind Healer. One of the two therapists between which Hermione had been unable to choose. Hermione stayed silent.

Despite this the Mind Healer walked over to the Muggle-born with a welcoming smile on her lips, "I hope I didn't startle you? My name is Abigail Smith. I am one of the Mind Healers of St. Mungos and am the one they have burdened with the responsibility for Mrs Lestrange's wellbeing."

For a moment longer, Hermione kept her mouth shut. _I know who you are, I know about your experience as an Auror and as a Mind Healer. I know about your own need for therapy after you lost your first husband, that you remarried again five years ago and have three children._ Though as her mental list with facts about the other woman continued Hermione proffered her hand, "Nice to meet you, Mrs Smith, my name is Hermione Granger."

From the smile on Abigail's face, Hermione surmised that she had not needed to introduce herself. It would truly take some getting used to, that so many of the magical world knew her by name.

Silence followed and Hermione felt uncomfortable. She had wanted to start with therapy even during the war but now that she stood before a Mind Healer she was tongue-tied. Where to begin? Her depressive moods? Her recurring nightmare? The torture? The need to keep her parents safe by Obliviating them?

As Hermione went over the possibilities in her head her eyes slowly returned to the heap of blanket and ebony mane. All the while she felt Abigail's eyes on her, studying her.

Abigail spoke up again, "I can imagine that you might have some questions. Would you like to come with me to my office? Or would you prefer to stay here?"

This was a simple question, Hermione knew she had to get out of here. The longer she stayed in this corridor, the more certain she became that she had gone insane during the war.

* * *

Harry stood up from his place near the fire the moment Hermione stepped inside their tent. "Where have you been?" His voice was strained and a frown of incomprehension was on his face as he asked, "Why didn't you wait for me?"

She did not answer at once. Instead, she tried to gauge his current thoughts, but it was impossible to see past Harry's suppressed anger. It did not help that her head hurt and that tiredness seemed to have settled in her very bones.

Hermione sighed, the false hopes which she had talked into her own head during her journey back home crumbled into a thousand pieces. "I am sorry, Harry, I... I was not thinking. Just..." She faltered, not really sure if what she had to say was any good.

Harry waited for her to finish her sentence. He wanted to be able to let his shoulders sag in relieve and be done with this, but the worries which had gnawed at him for hours were currently stimulating the anger within him now that he knew that she was safe. How could she have done this to him? Vanishing without giving them a time of return or her destination. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, mentally telling himself to keep his voice calm. Yet he failed to keep the snide remark from spilling from his lips, "Right, you forgot. Just like we did at Shell Cottage. A side effect of our months on the run. Hm?"

She did not need their years of friendship to know that his attitude came from worry and hurt. And she truly tried not to take this personally, in spite of this, her defensiveness was audible when she spoke, "You know it is not that simple, Harry."

He looked at her, puzzled, but frowning still, "Fine. Why won't you tell me what is going on? Where have you been?"

Hermione looked at the ceiling of the tent and sighed in defeat. _Honesty is always the best, just rip off that bandage and deal with the blood_ , she thought. "Because it was crazy of me to do. And I don't know why I did it."

When she looked back at him she saw in his eyes that he realized where she had disappeared to, to whom she had gone. Hermione did not try to stop him when he visibly bristled and bellowed, "You went to _her_?! To bloody Bellatrix?!"

Noises could be heard from the bedroom, then a door opened and footsteps signalled that someone came nearer. Neither of them paid it any attention.

Meanwhile, the Muggle-born did not flinch away from her friend, but she did cross her arms, albeit unconsciously. "I did."

Harry opened his mouth again, not to yell this time, his voice was pained, "How could you not have waited for me? What if something had happened to you?" Though his words gradually became accentuated by his anger, "What if that bitch would have killed you this time?! You would be dead, just like my parents, Sirius, Remus and everyone else!" Tears began to gather in his eyes, though they did not fall yet.

Viktor walked silently into the room and came to a halt near them. His face was stern as he looked at the two. She glanced his way and saw that he had just showered, his hair was still wet, water dripped down onto his clothes. Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds, then they returned to Harry. Hermione took several more steps inside, abandoning the still half-open front flap of the tent.

"But that did not happen, see?" She said and gestured to her own body. "Harry, I am fine. I was told she was dosed and figured it was safe to go. In fact, she was more than 'dosed', she is kept drugged and sedated around the clock. Lestrange is kept in a comatose state! I was never at risk!" Without meaning to she had gradually been raising her voice in response to his. Though not in anger, rather because she _needed_ Harry to listen. And she saw from his face that he did not hear a single word she uttered. Despair for what was happening, the escalation of this discussion into an argument, began to settle inside her. It twisted her guts into a cramped knot.

"One is never safe around that freak and _you_ of all people should know that!" Tears traced down Harry's cheeks.

Those words made Hermione remember an argument in Shell Cottage, when Fleur had thrown those same words at her.

She, Hermione Jean Granger, of all people, should have known better.

Something in her jarred, made her clench her jaws. It reignited the anger she had felt in St. Mungos a few hours ago. _I should have known better,_ she thought bitterly. _Because I am Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, the one who reads all the time and who is a teacher's pet. Therefore, I am not allowed to make mistakes, act on irrational thoughts or emotions or desires for once in my life._

Whilst these bitter thoughts penetrated her mind she was unaware that Harry had not quietened down, he was continuing his monologue still, "I was only gone for five minutes, Hermione. Ten if you are pushing it! We could have gone together!"

Nor was Hermione aware of anything else. For she was fuming in the anger that had been suppressed for so long. In truth, only Viktor was aware of the fourth person entering the tent. The sound of the zipper of the closing front flap drew his attention momentarily away from Harry and Hermione. Fleur had entered and magically closed the flap behind her.

At that moment Hermione figuratively exploded, silencing Harry. She shouted, anger blazing in her eyes, all the while she pointed accusingly at her friend, "Am I not allowed to act on a whim once or twice?! You cannot expect me to always keep dancing to everyone's tunes!"

Only now did Harry notice his own tears and he wiped them angrily away, causing his glasses to rest on his nose askew, "No, you aren't! Not if said whim endangers your life! And since when do you even feel the need to risk things and act without thinking, huh?! You were the one to feel guilty whenever we broke school rules or got up to other shenanigans!"

"Oh, just get off your high horse," Hermione actually snarled at him, too angry to think clearly. "You never took responsibility for your own safety and now you are telling me to do exactly that. Practice what you preach, Harry."

He narrowed his eyes at that, tears spilt down unbiddenly. He opened his mouth -

Fleur, having had enough of this argument, yelled to cut off Harry's reply, "You two need to calm down! This ees unreasonable from both of you!" Unintentionally a blast of Veela pheromones accompanied her words, her distress for the situation causing a lack in control. The suddenness of it threw Harry off and he blinked several times as if dumbstruck. Viktor too stirred at the sudden dense atmosphere.

Hermione, on the other hand, was unaffected by the pheromones. She turned around, angry for having been sneaked up on, and shot back, "And what makes you think that you can just come waltzing into our tent and give your unsolicited opinion?!"

The quarter-Veela kept her expression impeccable, though her eyes betrayed the indignation she felt, "Your tent was open and instead of letting the whole camp hear about your personal life I thought it better to close it and intervene."

This did silence Hermione; her mouth became a thin line while she mentally reprimanded herself for leaving the tent flap unattended.

"Fuck this," snarled Harry meanwhile, the effect of Veela pheromones was not strong enough to diffuse his anger. "I am off to the Weasleys." He drew his wand and with a swift motion the front flap burst open, he grabbed a long black coat from one of the hangers and disappeared in a blur of robes. Viktor swiftly ducked as Harry's broom appeared from the hall, zoomed past and out of the tent; Harry had clearly Summoned it.

Hermione glared at the front flap which was still swaying from the rough magic which had forced it open. Complete silence descended over them, during which she ignored the stares of the other two. She ran a hand through her curls, her annoyance was evident in her agitated movement.

Viktor and Fleur moved at the same time. Her lover came to stand next to her, gently taking her chin and turning her head to face him. Whilst Fleur gave an exasperated sigh, finally averted her eyes away from Hermione and left the tent without another word, once more closing the front flap behind her.

"Vhat vas all that about? Vhy did you go to Lestrange, vhat haven't you told me?" Viktor's voice was soft as he spoke, but his expression was not kind. He had still a stern look about him, his thick eyebrows in a frown. She looked up at him, searching his eyes for disapproval but found none. Though she was reminded of how she had described him as grumpy-looking in a conversation she once had with Ron during their Fourth year.

The silence lengthened whilst Viktor waited.

"I don't know," she answered. What had happened here was unlike anything Harry and she had ever experienced, they had never argued like that. "I..." Hermione's shoulders sagged at last and she gently batted Viktor's hand away from her chin, allowing herself to look away. "I don't know," she repeated in a defeated whisper.

The Bulgarian did not speak as he kept studying her. His eyes restless as they scanned every aspect of her face and expression.

"I think," she began, her eyes settled on her bag which waited for her on the table. She had forgotten to take it with her to St. Mungos. "I will stay at Luna's place for a few nights."

He followed her stare, then walked towards it. Viktor held out her shoulder bag for her and asked her in Bulgarian _"When are you coming back?"_

_"I don't know,"_ she muttered as she walked towards him, past her proffered bag. Hermione wrapped her arms around his torso and held herself close to him for a few seconds before she let go. _"Don't hate me for not telling you."_

"I von't," he said earnestly, but his face was still without any warmth.

"I will tell you everything once I am back," she promised.

* * *

The Muggle-born readied herself to knock on the door when she heard Luna's voice from above, "Don't bother knocking, I doubt the house will let you in on its own, it has been acting up ever since we refurbished it a week ago."

Hermione looked up. Luna was on the roof, looking over the edge and down on her. Her long blond hair was in a braid and it dangled towards Hermione, looking almost like a rope that was thrown down for her to climb up with.

"The night is splendid for a walk, have you come from the Weasleys?"

"No, I haven't," Hermione took a deep breath. "I had a fight with Harry, actually. I also insulted Fleur. And I hurt Viktor by withholding my experience in Malfoy Manor from him."

"Stress can do much damage to a person's relationships," Luna said, her eyes wandering over the dark garden. "Have you had dinner yet? We have leftovers from my father's quiche."

"That sounds lovely," Hermione said with a sigh, realizing she had not eaten since she had dashed off to St. Mungos.

Halfway through the meal, Luna tapped with her wand on Hermione's left underarm, "So Viktor doesn't yet know what is underneath the bandages?"

The Muggle-born shook her head, still chewing.

"Has it gotten any better since I last saw it?"

Another shake of her head.

"Have you approached Pomfrey yet?"

She swallowed, but instead of a verbal answer, she took another bite from her dinner and shook her head for the third time.

Luna continued her questioning without missing a beat, "Are you still planning to?"

The first nod of the evening.

"And this fight, has it anything to do with the scar?"

Another nod.

"And the one who made it?"

Hermione gave her friend a certain look, it was pained but it answered her nonetheless. The Ravenclaw nodded absentmindedly, her eyes wandered to focus on something the kitchen. Meanwhile, Hermione took the last bite of her food and magiced her plate and cutlery to the sink, where it cleaned itself with a sponge, soap and water.

"Can we go to your room? I wouldn't feel comfortable if your father would walk in while I tell you the whole story. And I have a lot to tell you, there has happened so much since I last saw you..."

* * *

_There were a lot of windows in the room they entered, giving the plants in the room plenty of light and enabling them to grow out of proportion. Their pots had become far too small, though none seemed on the verge of toppling over. Hermione suspected Sticky Charms as the reason why. And she could practically visualise how_ _Neville would have a fit if he were to see this._

_The view outside was nothing like London, instead one saw a blue sky with small clouds scattered over it, like sheep spread over a meadow._

_The Mind Healer's voice made Hermione look away from the view, "Can I offer you a drink? Tea or coffee?"_

_The Mind Healer sat down behind her desk casting expectant eyes on her visitor, who followed her example and sat opposite her whilst she declined the offer, "no, thanks."_

_A soft pop announced the arrival of a tray with biscuits and a pot of tea._

_"I would like to know something for certain. Did you know about my presence through the visitor list or were you just making your rounds?" Hermione asked as she watched the Mind Healer poor herself a cup._

_Abigail smiled, "The paper downstairs is enchanted, when there is something written on it, that same handwriting appears right on this piece I keep on my desk." She waved the parchment in the air before laying it down again for her visitor to look at. "When I saw your name appear I was quite surprised, and determined to cancel my appointment to see if I could have a conversation with you."_

_To say that she was shocked by the Healer's honesty and forthrightness was an overstatement, but she was certainly unaccustomed to it. People were generally not this blunt._

_"Right," she said, making sure to sound neutral, "good to know." To her embarrassment, she was a bit lost for words._

_"So, Miss Granger, you came to St. Mungos in order to see Mrs Lestranges. Or is there something else, something I can help with?"_

_Hermione saw no reason to lie and said, "I wanted to see what had become of Lestrange." Though once the words were out of her Hermione began to feel nervous. Most people would believe her to be crazy for stating this. "How she is being kept prisoner, I mean. That was all, really."_

_"And?" Abigail raised her eyebrows questioningly, "Are you satisfied with what you saw? Or would you rather have her chained and back in Azkaban?"_

_Her lips became a thin line and she leaned back a little bit. Though when her eyes strayed to look at the plant on the desk she relaxed somewhat, "Not really, no. If we would put people in Azkaban we would not be any better than the Death Eaters themselves."_

_"Truly?" Abigail asked, her eyes intently focused on Hermione as she took a sip of her tea._

_Hermione bristled at that, her eyes snapped back to look the Mind Healer in the eyes. "Yes, of course! I have seen what dreadful effect it had on a friend of mine and he was lucky enough to be there for a short while only._

_"Azkaban is no place to keep prisoners, no matter what those people have done."_

_"That is quite a different opinion you got there, especially compared to most wizarding folk left in Britain. Where does this moral code come from, is this taught in Muggle schools?"_

_"Yes and no." Hermione took a moment to think before she continued with her answer, "It depends on the teachers and the countries, some are more honest than others. Just like with wizarding schools. Also, it depends most often on one's upbringing, naturally."_

_"And now you have come to make sure Mrs Lestrange is not put in Azkaban?"_

_"No." Hermione balled her hands into fists but forced them open just as fast. This was becoming a weird conversation._

_"I see," Abigail muttered, observing Hermione still. Though her expression had softened._

_Meanwhile, the Muggle-born doubted Abigail 'saw' what she truly meant, but she kept her thoughts to herself._

_Then the Mind Healer suddenly beamed at her, "I am curious. About you. Could you tell me more about your moral code?"_

_Hermione was once more taken aback by the bluntness, but after a few moments, she complied nonetheless, "Err... Well..._ _My parents have always taught me that there should be equality for all. Which is why I founded the organisation S.P.E.W a few years ago. The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."_

_"S.P.E.W.?" Abigail pronounced it as if she were tasting the letters on her tongue, "I am intrigued."_

_It took a bit getting used to - it had been such a long time since she had last gotten the opportunity to promote her beliefs about house-Elf welfare - but soon she had found her former spirit and advocated for what she believed to be right._

_In the end, she exited the room having gotten another member, though she suspected that Abigail had joined to humour her rather than actually believing this could succeed._

* * *

A first glimmer of the sunrise was visible from behind the curtains of Luna's bedroom windows by the time Hermione had finished her story. By now she was depleted of all her energy, though she knew that as long as she would not close her eyes for too long, she should be able to stay awake for a little while longer. Though getting up from the bed was out of the question. She had been lying next to her dear friend all this time and she was perfectly fine to sleep beside her. And she knew that they were both at ease, though they had never before shared a bed.

Hermione, who laid on her side facing Luna, observed the profile of her friend's face. All the while the Ravenclaw was silent as she looked at the portraits on her ceiling, mulling over everything she had just heard.

"Are you going to ask her to be your therapist?" Luna asked, her voice had a little rasp to it. She too was tired, though she had not once complained about the time.

"I think I will." The Muggle-born had made this decision whilst on her way back to camp, but saying it out loud made her feel uncertain - no, uncomfortable. Abigail was Bellatrix' Healer, would it create difficult situations? Hermione did not think it likely since all Abigail did was tend to the Death Eater's wounds. Right? There was nothing ethically incorrect about it... Right?

"You can stay for as long as you want," Luna said this and looked sideways at Hermione, "I mean here."

Hermione smiled a tired smile, she had no idea if Luna meant she was allowed to stay here in the bed, here in the house or both.

"Let's sleep now, Hermione. Before the sun chases us out of the room."

_I guess she meant both_ , she thought to herself and nodded, her smile still there. Hermione reached over to the bottle she had put on the nightstand, took a swig and laid back down. She draped an arm around Luna's middle and was content to wait for the potion to work. The Ravenclaw moved a bit with the blanket, made sure they were both covered by it, waved her wand to magically darken the room and closed her eyes to hum them both to sleep.

* * *

Two days later Hermione was once more in the office of Abigail Smith. The Mind Healer was as friendly as the previous time, escorting the earlier client back to the lobby and retrieving Hermione to take to her office.

Yesterday, after approximately five hours of rest, Hermione had awoken and had been unable to stay in bed, despite the comfortable warmth from the sleeping form beside her. While moving about on her tiptoes, she had reached for her bag and had tried writing the letter to Smith at Luna's desk. Though after having crumbled the second piece of parchment Luna had chosen that moment to wake up and had helped Hermione during her third try.

It had been a difficult letter for Hermione to write because of all the information she had felt obligated to give. Explaining in detail why she wanted Smith to be her therapist, only to get stuck on the part where she tried to explain why it had nothing to do with Smith being Mrs Lestrange's Healer.

_"You know," Luna smiled, once she had read the previously written letters, whilst seated on the desk itself, "a pigeon doesn't explain itself when they come to walk around your feet while you eat something."_

_"But I can't just expect her to create time in her schedule without giving some information in return." Hermione had tried to argue._

_But Luna was resolute in her opinion, "Filling in the blanks is part of understanding the human psyche."_

Hermione had listened to Luna and had scrapped most of her reasoning, but some of it had still made it in the final letter.

"I got the impression from your letter that you have wanted therapy for some time, which leads me to think that you know what you want to work on. Are there specific experiences?" Abigail was tending to her plants as she asked this.

Their teacups were already prepared with a full teapot on the side, at the ready to refill on its own.

Hermione had no need to think about her answer, "What I need from this therapy is to come to terms with several happenings from during the war and the lasting effects I suffer because of them. Most of which I got at Mrs Lestrange's hands.

"Also, at the start of the Second War, I had to take some drastic measures to ensure some kind of safety for my parents. I had to cut myself out of their lives."

"You Obliviated them," Abigail surmised.

"I did." Hermione reached out for her cup to hold it in one hand and twirled her index finger of the other hand to stir the tea within. "I had to, there was nothing else I could have done."

The Mind Healer said nothing at this, her silence egging Hermione on, "Anyway, I want to discuss the latter in both a therapeutic and an academic way. Obviously, I feel horrible for having had to do something like that to them. But most of all, I _need_ to make them remember, I won't rest until I find a way to make their memories come back without having to hurt them. And I hope that you are willing to help me with that or know someone else who can."

"Very well," Abigail said and finally sat down in her chair. "Have you any preference which we tackle first?"

"Yes, I do actually." The Muggle-born put back her cup and began to roll up her left sleeve, exposing her bandages. "Lestrange left me with a significant scar. She cut it in me with this dagger - " she took the dagger out of her bag and laid it down on the table "- but no matter what I or others have tried to do so far, the word won't heal, let alone disappear."

Abigail took the dagger and twirled it around before her eyes, "I am not specialised in Healing, Miss Granger, is there a reason why you show this to me?"

"I heard from Madam Pomfrey that you are an ex-Auror," Hermione lied without missing a beat. "Perhaps you have seen other instruments like this one before?"

"No, I am afraid I have to disappoint you." She laid the dagger back on the desk with an apologetic smile on her face. It looked sincere. "There were certainly dark Enchantments of some sort used when this dagger was made, but I am no specialist. Few are. And those people can likely only be found in the ranks of the Death Eaters or the Unspeakables."

"Not surprising," Hermione hid the object once more from view.

"And what is it exactly that you and others have tried so far?"

The Muggle-born listed all the different approaches Fleur, Harry, Luna and she had tried so far. Minutely wondering what a real Healer would have done differently. She made a mental note that she had to go to Madam Promfrey as soon as possible. She should have gone to the school nurse the moment the war had stopped.

"Hm," was all that came from Abigail as the list had come at an end. The look on her face indicated to Hermione that there were different tactics she was considering.

"But the reason why I mention this is because the wound, or rather the curse - because I do think it is a curse - that is bound to the wound, is affecting my sleep. I have cause to believe the curse affects my subconscious. Forcing me to repeatedly dream the same nightmare whenever I do not take a Dreamless Draught. It literally haunts me."

"That certainly sounds bad," muttered Abigail as she fiddled with a quill in her hands, her eyes roaming over the objects in her room. "You should see a Healer specialised in these kinds of wounds. I will see what I can do for you in that regard."

"No, that is fine, I will arrange it myself." Hermione was not comfortable with the idea that she was not the one in control of who was going to help her. Even though she knew Abigail was restricted by the oath of professional secrecy.

Abigail did not bat her eyes, but she did ask for a confirmation, "Are you sure? Alright then." The Mind Healer then looked at something behind Hermione. Who followed her gaze and saw a clock hang on the wall that reminded her a lot of the one that was present in the Weasley's home. Though in this case, the hands of the clock did not represent the family members but rather the clients. The hand which had a nameplate depicting 'current client' rested on 'office', whilst the hand with 'next client' rested on 'lobby'. To this clock's right there stood a grandfather clock which truly showed the time. They had eight minutes left of their session.

Hermione looked back around and saw Abigail writing on a piece of parchment. When that disappeared with a wave of the hand and an audible pop, the Mind Healer looked Hermione in the eyes and said, "I want to look if there are any triggers in your daily activities. And eliminate what could possibly provoke the nightmare to recur during your sleep. So, what I want you to do is to keep a diary, or journal, if that is the term you prefer.

"All you need to do is write what you have done during the day, until the moment you go to sleep. And write down how your nights went the moment you wake up. Even when you took the Dreamless Sleep draught the night before.

"For now, you don't have to go into detail in regards to the activities. Just write down what you did, even if it's part of the most basics human needs. Brushing your teeth after having breakfast, for example."

At that moment another audible pop sounded in the office and on the desk the same piece of parchment had returned, this time with a notebook attached to it. Abigail picked it up and handed it to Hermione. "Here, take this to write in. And, in the meantime, I will think of other ways we could tackle this mystery." The promise was accompanied by a warm smile.

"Thank you," Hermione accepted the notebook and reached out to shake hands. She was not sure if this would lead to something that could actually help her, but she was willing to try. It gave her a feeling of some kind of purpose; not all was lost, there were still things they could try to do against the nightmare.

Once they stood by the door Abigail turned to face Hermione, a hand resting on the door handle, "Also, I think you should keep practising Occlumency. Maybe it won't be the answer to your problem, but it's always good to have such skills. And another thing that we might try out in the coming weeks and months is Lucid Dreaming. But we will breach that topic when the need arises."

As they walked through the corridor to the lobby Abigail told her that she would send Hermione an owl with the possible dates for their next session.

After that Hermione went back to Luna and told her everything which had happened.

* * *

The Muggle-born watched in her vixen form, hidden underneath a shrub, as her friends practised Quidditch in the garden. Harry was practising different dive techniques, several which Hermione recognized as Viktor's famous dives, whilst Ginny and George took turns to try and score in the makeshift goals Ron was guarding. Comments and jokes were made, but despite this, there seemed to be a heavy atmosphere present. Since George too was on a broom and flying. He was still a shadow of his former self. His comments, if he said anything at all, lacked in spirit, the single smile Hermione had seen so far had been forced and he seemed to be constantly distracted. His eyes searching for the one sibling who was no longer alive.

Hermione stayed where she was; content to observe the others from a distance, pondering over everything that had happened the last few days and to gather all the courage she needed to initiate a conversation with Harry. Crouched between the leaves as she was she had no fear of being spotted, despite her red coat.

It was the arrival of Arthur and Percy from their jobs at the Ministry that made the group halt their game and land on the ground, welcoming the two home. As a whole, the group reached the back door, through which one after the other went inside. It was then that she chirped. A sound that should be familiar to Harry. But he did not respond.

She was about to repeat the chirp when she saw Ron give a discreet elbow to Harry. She watched as he nodded over his shoulder in her direction. A pair of clear green eyes glanced towards her hiding place and then he saw her.

The vixen crawled out from underneath the shrub and trotted away from the house, confident that her two friends would find her. She waited for them in the shadows of a tree in her human form, gripping Fleur's sweater tighter around herself. She disliked having arguments or fights with people in general, but with Harry... With Harry, she had not had a real prolonged argument since their third year. And a part of her had believed it impossible for them to have meaningless fights after all they had gone through together during the Horcrux Hunt. Obviously, she had been mistaken.

"Hey Hermione," Ron gave an uncertain wave as the two young men walked into the shadows, "we miss you around here. Ginny has been nagging me, asking me what I have done to keep you away like this."

Harry was silently observing her with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were not reproachful, he too looked uncertain and nervous about the situation.

Hermione let go of her sweater and rushed towards him, throwing her arms around him. In return, he clasped his arms tightly around her too. Their embrace was not wholly comfortable; however, it answered all the more their need for forgiveness from the other.

In a whisper only audible to Harry she told him how sorry she was, that she would not visit Lestrange again without asking him to join her.

"It's okay, love," he croaked, "we are okay."

"We will talk about this later?"

"Yeah."

When they separated Ron smiled hopefully and was rewarded with a quick hug from Hermione, he was still her friend, she could not always keep a distance if she wanted to be able to be civilised with him.

"So, are you staying for dinner?" He asked with a beaming grin.

"Yes, I would love to."

Hermione was welcomed with the warmth she associated with the Weasley family; Molly embraced her in her usual motherly way. Though she, like George, missed her usual spirit. Despite this Hermione was relieved and confident that, given time, the family would come through their mourning.

Talk at the table was mostly about the Ministry's reformation, that Kingsley was likely to be asked to stay Minister for a while longer and that the Goblins were still very ill-tempered. The state of the camp at Hogwarts' grounds was another topic brought up, to which Hermione could answer that the last few people were likely to go homewards the next day. Except for those who had opted to stay.

Arthur, who sat opposite her, leaned forward, "After the award ceremony at Hogwarts we want to hold a small family get together, with a few friends. And you are invited, of course. And Mr Krum is more than welcome to come as well."

She smiled, grateful to be invited even after the days of absence. "Thank you, I will tell Viktor about it."

Instinct told her to expect a comment from Fred and George, that Ron could have Viktor sign all his posters, but the reality caught up with her almost immediately. She glanced towards George and noticed that he was not listening to anyone, merely concentrating on his meal, forcing the food between his teeth. She wondered if he would ever be able to make the same kind of jokes again. It pained her to see him like this.

After dinner, a bit of small talk and many hugs, Harry and Ron accompanied her to the fence.

"I will be staying three more nights here."

"It feels weird, not being with you," Hermione conceded and with her body language she told him, _Stay safe._

"Yeah, I know what you mean." He smiled sheepishly, _I will._

* * *

Heartened by Harry's forgiveness Hermione decided to go to Fleur next. After transfiguring Fleur's sweater into a jacket, she braved her nerves and knocked on the front flap before her courage would give way. She did not have to wait long to feel the wards being taken down. Then Fleur appeared as she opened the flap. Light streamed outside from behind her and made it impossible for Hermione to see her reaction if she actually showed any.

The quarter-Veela summoned a Lumos between them, keeping the glow soft, "'Ermione, what can I do for you?" Dark blue eyes gazed at her, calculating and distant.

She took a deep breath and spoke softly and a bit hesitantly in French, _"I have come to apologize. I didn't handle the situation very well. Not well at all."_

_"You were rather unpleasant, yes."_

_"I was. And I am sorry I snarled at you like that. There was no need for me to do that."_

Despite her sincere apologies, Fleur kept the distant attitude. _"Okay, good, thank you."_

Hermione kept her own expression from showing the hurt and annoyance she felt. Though her mind raced with questions not only about what she should say or do next but also about why Fleur acted the way she did. _How can she be this unresponsive? Does she want me to beg for it?_

_"Is there anything else I can help you with?"_ The French woman crossed her arms and leaned against the flap post.

Her tone of voice was not unkind, later Hermione would even say the other woman was thawing, but all she could see right now was the closed-off body language. Which made the little courage she had left in her dissipate.

"That was all," she said, not bothering to speak in French anymore. Mentally she gave up on ever recovering the friendship that had once been between them. "Goodnight."

_"Goodnight."_

Hermione turned around and walked slowly to her own tent. While she did she realized the mistake she had made. Fleur was not like Harry or Viktor. With her, Hermione did not have the years of love and friendship she had with her two men. No matter how intimate and natural Fleur and Hermione's friendship had been those few days, they did not really know each other that well. And it was obvious now that Hermione had miscalculated what they could handle from one another.

Once she was out of sight, she undid the transfiguration on Fleur's sweater and hunched up her shoulders to bury her nose in the fabric. But Fleur's scent had long since faded from the garment, no matter what lies tried to tell herself.

* * *

"Who was that?" William asked as his wife re-entered the kitchen, not halting in the preparation of their dinner.

"'Ermione," was all the quarter-Veela said, whilst she picked up her previously abandoned wine glass and downed the liquid.

At hearing that name he looked up in surprise, "Why didn't you invite her in?"

Fleur sighed, not masking her annoyance, "Because there was no need to."

Not that easily intimidated by his wife's moods, he said after a moment, "I don't get it." He put both his hands on the counter as he watched Fleur with raised eyebrows. "When Hermione stayed at our cottage you two seemed thick as thieves near the end of her stay, but ever since then, I haven't seen you two near each other, not once. What happened?"

Bill saw how Fleur clenched her jaws and watched her refill her glass in silence. After she had taken a drink she said remorsefully, "We got into an argument about what I would do after I finished writing the journal on the effects of the curses she suffered."

"Strange, I thought she agreed after her first hesitation...?" He frowned, remembering clearly the morning Hermione had stumbled down the stairs to state that she was willing to cooperate 'in the name of science'.

"Opinions are changeable, William," Fleur said flatly.

* * *

"Let's sit down," she said in a way of greeting, whilst she put the wards back up.

"You look pale, have you eaten anything today?" He asked worriedly, reaching out to take over the warding.

"Yes, don't worry. Just tired and I don't like talking about what I am about to tell you."

Viktor nodded, took hold of one of her hands and pulled her towards the couch. They settled facing each other, their legs intertwined. And as she began to tell every detail she remembered of her experience in Malfoy Manor she kept herself busy with Viktor's trousers, playing with the rims around his ankles. Despite her occupational therapy, her sight became foggy at certain moments, her voice breaking. This was the first time she told someone about it and reliving it like this was almost just as horrible. Though, at the same time, it felt weird to recount what had happened to her.

She was immensely grateful that Viktor was there to help her through. He did not say anything, did not try to shush her tears away. Instead, he scooted closer; he put his feet on the ground and came to sit against her crossed legs. He laid his right arm on the backrest so that he could hold her shoulder with his hand, gently kneading the flesh there. And with his other hand, he reached out to hold one of hers, not minding in the slightest that she started to fidget with his fingers at some point instead. And all the while he listened attentively.

* * *

With Viktor's arms wrapped around her, she felt safe. His occasional snores as soothing to her as listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat whenever she laid with her ear on his chest. But there was still a gap between them, she tried to burrow herself further into his embrace, wanting to feel him against her back. Her movement stirred Viktor awake, he mumbled something inaudible and tightened his arms around her body when he realized what she wanted, successfully pulling her fully against him. Then he inhaled deeply and went back to sleep.

Hermione, on the other hand, was still unable to fall asleep, she was wide awake after all the memories she had had to recount. But lying like this, she did not mind her sleeplessness all that much.

In the dark, she could think clearly, without anyone there to distract her. And as a result, her mind went to the mystery she still had not been able to explain.

Bellatrix had somehow survived the Killing Curse Molly had shot at her and Hermione had reason to believe it had everything to do with the fact that instead of leaving a corpse Bellatrix had disintegrated into ashes. So far, none of the books from the Restricted Section had mentioned the latter as a possible way of dying. When hit with the Killing Curse it was most common for the person to be dead at first touch or for death to embrace them within half a dozen seconds. Less common but not unlikely was that upon first touch limbs got severed as the person died or for the chest to explode, these being the brutal ways to die when being hit by the Killing Curse. However, not a one had mentioned anything about the victim staggering into ashes.

There had to be something Hermione did not know about, something she was missing.

Hermione realized she should have included Luna in her search for answers, should have discussed possibilities with her. Because the Ravenclaw would have had a perfectly weird way of looking at the mystery, helping Hermione to look at the things from a new perspective. Or perhaps she should pay Minerva a visit tomorrow, it was likely she would have heard the results from the investigation done in the tunnels by now.

Her thoughts trickled over to the books she had ordered; she had received a letter that they had all arrived and that she could pick them up any time she wanted. Hermione decided that she would send a letter to the Headmistress first thing in the morning, asking for an audience at any time that day, and then go to the bookstore to pay for the books and the good service. She had an inkling that she would receive a prompt response by the time she returned on Hogwarts' grounds.

* * *

"Thank you so much for using our services, Miss," the clerk said enthusiastically. It was the same one who had taken her order and he radiated excitement the moment she had entered the shop, though it had lessened slightly after he realized 'Mister Krum' was not accompanying her. Despite this, he practically yelled after her, "We hope that the books are to your satisfaction. Have a great day, Miss Granger!"

The Muggle-born suppressed the urge to run towards the door. She regretted her decision to do the errand alone. Viktor would not only have taken some of the attention away from her, but he also had a grounding effect on her. He was her silent observer, or brooder, depending on the intensity of his scowl. Hermione chuckled at the idea.

She regretted her decision all the more when a flash blinded her the moment she opened the door. In a split-second, Hermione had drawn her wand and another breath later she was protected by a magical shield. Though it was useless against the second flash.

"Smile for the camera, dearie," a syrupy-sweet voice said. One Hermione detested and had been able to avoid for several years, until now, evidently.

As she blinked away the white spots in her sight Hermione said with a dark frown on her face, "Skeeter, whatever makes you want to _bug_ me?"

Rita laughed heartily at the obvious reminder, "Oh, but you _know_ me, right, darling? Flying around, busy as a bee, chirping with the important people. Not to worry, dearie, I will only write down the truth whereas you are concerned. Had a tip, you see. Heard something on the grapevine, when I was in the Ministry. Had to be there you see. Being important."

By now Hermione's sight had come back completely and she saw how Skeeter's quill was furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment which hoovered behind the witch. The fact that the reminder of the end of her Fourth year was received with such carelessness gave her a sinking feeling. Why was her knowledge about Skeeter's Animagus form no longer worthy blackmail?

"Put away the camera," she said coldly, as she put the wand back in her holder.

"Oh no, no, why hide away the object of interest?" Rita said slyly. Though with a snip of her fingers, the camera was banished. "Look, the camera is gone, no need to hide the wand."

Confused and suspicious she said, "My wand?"

"Oh ho ho." It was then decided by Hermione that Skeeter's one true skill was laughing evilly. " _Your_ wand, is it? Was I informed incorrectly? Is it not from a _Death Eater_?" An evil gleam came into Skeeter's eyes, her sly smile becoming a sneer, "And _why_ is it, Granger, that you are seen still using it like it is your own? Ollivander's shop has been reopened for more than a week and other wandstores were never closed, to begin with."

"That is none of your business," the Muggle-born clenched her jaws to stop herself from telling her precisely why it was none of her goddamned business. She broke the shield with a touch of her fingertips and walked past. Past the reporter and other shopfronts, ignoring the false 'pleasant day to you, dearie, thanks for the insight.'

_Nasty, bloody hag._

She should have handled the situation better, should have ignored the reporter from the very start, should not have engaged with her. Hermione ran a hand through her hair in frustration. What was happening to her? She lost her cool way too easily as of late. Getting spooked by a bloody camera flash. She could only imagine how freaked out she looked on the photos. _Well, I will know exactly how I look by tomorrow morning,_ she thought glumly.

Who would have tipped Rita off though? Hermione did not want to believe the Aurors were responsible. Had Skeeter been in her beetle form and overheard a private conversation? Also, Skeeter had only mentioned 'a Death Eater', did that mean she did not know who the wand truly belonged to?

By the time Hermione was about to knock on Minerva's door - for she had indeed received a letter as she returned on Hogwarts' ground, in which Minerva invited her to her office - she had to take a moment and took a deep, calming breath.

"Come on in, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled despite her mood, she had not even knocked on the door and her Professor already knew of her presence. _Very cat-like._

"Good morning, Professor." She said as she walked inside.

"Good morning. Take a seat, Granger, can I offer you some tea? With the usual splash of milk?"

"Yes, please."

The Professor did not even lift her finger for the teapot, milk cup and two spoons to come to life and start to prepare their teas.

"Coincidentally, I have some news for those who stayed here to help with the repairs - including Harry and you, of course - but first, what is it that you wanted to talk with me about?"

_No time for pleasantries?_ "It is about Lestrange, again." Hermione took another deep breath to strengthen herself, "Since before I found her underneath the castle I suspected her to be alive. Though since I was not certain... I thought it better not to worry people.

"Mostly because my reason for suspicion felt so... lucrative. It is such a weak theory. I saw the way she died and... well... I didn't believe it. Or maybe more a kind of gut feeling, really?"

"How did it happen then? How did Mrs Lestrange die?" Minerva asked as she watched Hermione over the rim of her glasses, her hands intertwined on her desk.

Hermione told Minerva everything; how she and Luna had battled the Death Eater and how it had felt strange and unreal as if Bellatrix had kept her anger in check as to not overpower them. How she knew but had not seen that Molly had shot the Killing Curse and how Bellatrix had staggered backwards at being hit only to become smog and ashes.

"... and I have never heard or read of someone disintegrating into ashes after being hit by the Killing Curse. Every book I have read so far tells of a corpse which is left - or mangled remains, at the very least - _except_ when the one hit by the Curse has made Horcruxes. But if that were the case, _if_ Lestrange had made a Horcrux, how did she turn into ashes only to reappear somewhere else? Someone who made Horcruxes simply doesn't die, their body does not disappear.

"There has to be something I am missing, something I don't know anything about.

"The other reason what made me hesitant to believe her staged death, was...well... _is_... Molly." At this last statement the Muggle-born felt her cheeks heat up, it was one thing to _think_ someone incapable of winning a duel but saying it aloud...

"Mrs Weasley may be a mother and has been a housewife for a few decades but she is a better dueller than you give her credit for."

Hermione's blush intensified due to her embarrassment and opened her mouth to apologize but Minerva silenced her with a wave of her hand and continued, "still, I understand your reasoning. Had I witnessed these events, it would have struck me as unnatural as well. Bellatrix has always been ruthless in her duelling style, even in her years at Hogwarts, it is not like her to keep her anger from showing."

Minerva fell silent as she pondered over the information, her lips were pursed and a distant look was in her eyes. Hermione kept quiet, feeling how her blush slowly subsided. She wanted to tell Minerva about her suspicions, her theories. Instead, she bit on her lower lip to keep quiet and wait.

After a while - and her whole cup of tea - Minerva spoke again, "Until now the Aurors have found nothing, not in the tunnels nor on Bellatrix' person. The investigation is still ongoing, but it won't be long until they will wake her up for questioning. I have made my own deductions, though I want to wait for them to finish their search in the tunnels." Suddenly Minerva skewered Hermione with an intense stare, a slow smile came on her lips, "What have you figured out so far, Hermione?"

The young woman needed no further encouragement, "As of now I believe her staged dead was triggered by the curse or perhaps the amount of energy the Killing Curse requires. Some kind of enchantment? One that can be compared to a Portkey Charm perhaps? I haven't found anything about it in the books but it is still something I consider possible.

"Because I find it unlikely that she carried a true Portkey with her. When was she supposed to say the keyword? By the time she would have been halfway uttering the word, the curse would have hit and killed her. Not to start about all the possible ways one can lose a Portkey admits a battlefield. No matter if it is a bracelet or necklace.

"And since Hogwarts' wards were down the Portkey-like Charm or Enchantment or whatever could have been feasible. Heck, Lestrange, anyone really, could have Apparated away."

Minerva tilted her chin higher to look at Hermione through her glasses which she had moved earlier to the tip of her nose. There was the slightest curl upwards of the corners of her mouth and a certain spark in her eyes.

Hermione missed it all, for her eyes were focussed on the teapot which poured her another cup, but she had once again made her favourite professor proud.

"Why haven't you tried looking for your answers in Herbology? Keep your mind open, Hermione, there is more to this than configuration, I suspect. This is Dark magic, as you have undoubtedly surmised, there are rituals you could look into as well."

The Muggle-born looked with wide, surprised eyes at her professor. She was clearly given directions to continue her investigation. To answer this mystery by herself. This was almost like a weird kind of déjà vu, after all, Dumbledore had sent them on the hunt with his riddles and the unexpected inheritances he had left them with. Something in her wanted to ask Minerva if this was of the same nature. Did Professor McGonagall already _know_ what was going on, but made Hermione figure it out on her own?

The question was on the tip of her tongue, but instead, she asked, "What about the Restricted Section? Have those books been separated from the library yet?"

"The Restricted Section has once more been established, yes. Each of the Professors looked through the books of their respective subjects to make sure none of the offending titles remained in the public library.

"And Irma has informed me that she won't return until three weeks before the start of term. Therefore, you won't need to account yourself to her. As for Argus, I will have a word with him. He won't bother you. And I trust you to return the books once you have read them." Minerva's expression was neutral but there was a certain air about her that made Hermione realize that her Professor knew she had already taken Restricted books from the library.

She felt like a young child who was busted whilst stealing candy, Hermione tried to look innocent, though was not able to keep another blush from her cheeks.

A sigh was accompanied by a scrutinizing look, "Now, let's switch to a simpler topic, shall we?" Minerva clapped twice in her hands, and not only did the tray with tea and their cups disappear but a map appeared and rolled open on top of the desk. Hermione did not recognize the floor plan, but soon she saw that this was likely to be one of the dormitories of Hogwarts by the look of all those smaller rooms connected by one large, round common room. The Muggle-born continued to look at the map as Minerva started to speak again, "Since most of the people have returned to their families and homes I do not see why the few left could not enjoy some more hospitality. Therefore, I want to invite you all to stay in the Hufflepuff dormitory. Professor Sprout is more than happy to welcome you all and temporarily turn off the security devices to repel non-Hufflepuff students. And she will show everyone in which dormitory they are supposed to sleep."

Most of Hogwarts' towers still needed to be repaired, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw's towers included. Hermione was grateful that they were not asked to stay in the Slytherin dormitories. She looked up from the map and said, "Thank you, Professor, I will tell the others to break up the camp. I think we will be ready at 2 o'clock."

"Perfect, I shall inform Pomona."

* * *

Later that evening, when she went to bed she was slightly less grateful for the change in housing. Not only could she no longer sleep with Viktor beside her, for he was sleeping in the boy's dormitories, she also realized that she shared the dormitory with Fleur. Who was not here yet, but Hermione recognized the clothes that lay folded on one of the beds. Those were the clothes she, Hermione, had worn just a few days ago.

With a sudden speed to forego awkward situations Hermione quickly picked up her toothbrush and Viktor's Quidditch shirt and made for the bathroom. She changed and brushed her teeth in record time. Though in all her haste to get to her bed and draw the curtains closed around her she completely forgot to take her Dreamless Sleep draught. Which had the usual consequences...

She gasped awake, sweat covered her whole and made her shirt cling to her body. It was likely very early in the morning, it was completely dark around her. She pulled a curtain open but it made no difference. For a few more seconds all she heard was her own heartbeat and breathing, both too fast for someone who had just awakened. But after straining her ears Hermione discerned the breathing of other humans in the dormitory. And after a partial transfiguration into her Animagus form, she saw the curtains drawn from five of the other beds.

The Muggle-born got up, uncaring about the time of day, gathered her things to freshen herself up in the bathroom and tiptoed out of the dormitory. She left Viktor a note telling him where she was and charmed it to fly onto his bedside table. And for the rest of the day, she resided in the Restricted Section. Only pausing in her reading and scribbling whenever Viktor came to visit her for a talk or take her to the Great Hall for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

There were moments during the day that she looked up to say something to Harry, only to remember that he was not there. That same nervous uncertainty as before would try to take a hold of her, but she always managed to placate it with the knowledge that he would be back soon.

It was close to midnight by the time she returned to the common room. A few others were still up, among them sat Viktor with a book of his own. She sat down beside him on the couch, with one leg tucked underneath her whilst the other dangled over the edge so that she could sit facing him. He smiled at her and observed her for a moment, _"You look tired."_

_"That is because I am,"_ she smiled faintly and rested her head on the backrest, willing herself not to close her eyes. _"What are you reading?"_

_"It's about magical creatures in Britain,"_ he said and held the book up for his lover to see the cover. _"Luna was talking about some I have never heard of, but I can't find them in here either."_

_"You won't find them in any book. You should ask her instead, she loves to talk about them. Maybe she will even lend you one of her father's journals to read instead."_

He was silent for a moment, looking at her curiously, then he asked softly, _"You don't believe her?"_

Hermione smiled ruefully and looked at her hands, but she answered him honestly, _"It is not that... Well, it was in the beginning. I had heard these crazy tales about a girl looking at things that were not there, saying the strangest things to anyone who talked to her. So, we had a weird start. I wasn't all that comfortable around her, but I kept stumbling on her in the library and I hated to see her sitting all by herself. Being shunned by others as if she had the plague. Ginny is quite like Ron in that regard, they both despise staying in the library for more than half an hour."_ She cleared her throat and continued, _"Anyway, once I got to know her, I grew aware of how intelligent she is and I knew there must be some truth to her stories, to the creatures. But I have yet to see them for myself."_

Viktor looked down at the book in his hands and after a moment closed it with a sigh, he would write Luna soon. When he put the book away Viktor took something from the inner pocket of his jacket and offered it to Hermione.

It was the Daily Prophet of that morning. At the sight of it, a nervous feeling jumped her. This newspaper was part of the reasons why she had hidden away in the Restricted library. Yet she took the proffered newspaper all the same.

_"She wrote about you,"_ he lowered his voice and leaned closer so that Hermione would hear him, a dark look was on his face. _"I don't get how she is still employed."_

_"Probably knows some_ interesting _things about the chief editor,"_ Hermione muttered almost indifferently, though the way she gripped the paper told a different story. She leafed through the pages until she was faced with herself. A look of confused fear was visible on her face even through the blue-tinted magic, which slightly disturbing her features. Though the focus of the photo was not on her blinking face, it was the wand which she held in a fierce grip which the camera wanted to capture. The title was enough to get the gist of the article: 'HEROINE OF THE GOLDEN TRIO IN POSSESSION OF DEATH EATER'S WAND'. Yet Hermione read it nonetheless. And, almost to her dismay, Rita had written the truth, her variation of the truth, with the little information she had about the situation.

Hermione had been right to assume that Skeeter had no knowledge about who the wand had belonged to exactly. But Rita was not shy to repeatedly point out the fact that Hermione _carried_ and _used_ a Death Eater's wand, _voluntarily._ Skeeter also mentioned how the wandstore in Diagon Alley was booming, with all the witches and wizards who had lost their previous wands. And that there was simply no reason for Hermione not to be among the first customers. Rita even had the nerve to end the article with: 'So what is happening to our Golden girl, is there something peculiar going on? Has a Death Eater died by her hand and is she carrying the wand around like a trophy? Or is it something far more sinister?'

_"At least it was not frontpage material,"_ she sighed as she crumpled the paper into a ball and looked tiredly up into her lover's eyes.

* * *

It was close to three in the morning and Viktor was fast asleep on the couch. He had been unwilling to go to bed whilst she stayed in the common room, her mind far too active to even consider going to bed, but that had not kept him from falling asleep right on the sofa.

Earlier she had summoned a blanket to wrap around him and she reached over once more to drape it back over his shoulder, for he had stirred in his sleep and the blanket had fallen down slightly.

Being this close to him she was tempted to plant a soft kiss on his cheek but the lines of his face caught her attention. She followed his thick eyebrows down to the curve of his nose, from which her eyes followed the stubble around his mouth to his chin and from there over his jaw and into his hair. Which Viktor was growing longer still. His hair, a short, spikey cut at the wedding of Fleur and William, was now of a length that it fell often in his eyes but that it was still too short for a ponytail. And, to her surprise, his wavy hair began to get curlier the longer it became. She really liked it.

The word on her underarm throbbed painfully but she ignored it. All day long it had been troubling her, but after trying several spells to cool it down she had given up on lessening the burn it left.

Only now she realized that she should have gone to Madam Pomfrey, that she had the whole day to do so but somehow the thought had not entered her mind. Instead, she had hidden in the library and occupied herself with books. She had run from her problems, now that it was dark she could face the truth, no one was awake to glare at her accusingly. Still, she felt shame for her own tactics, she fidgeted in her seat.

The wound on her arm throbbed again, a festering prickle minutely lingered behind, somehow reminding her of how minimal this pain was compared to the Crusiatus Curse. Still, it made her wonder... Had the Aurors awakened Bellatrix from her comatose sleep? Was that why the curse on her arm was acting up? Had Bellatrix been questioned by now and with what means?

Hermione stood up, no longer able to sit still. The book she had been reading and the crumpled up newspaper fell to the ground, she did not bother to pick them up. Instead, she walked towards one of the round windows and watched the grass outside ruffle and sway in the wind as the moon shone above it all, showering the landscape in a serene and pale light.

Was this scenery from an existing place or was this all an illusion? Hermione felt a desire grow inside her - and take permanent hold of her - to crawl through the window, into the world of swaying grass and cloudless night skies. She could do with some rest in a place where nothing and no one could get to her.

For the first time since the start of her First Year at Hogwarts, Hermione regretted with all her being that she had been housed in Gryffindor. She would have loved making homework in this common room, she even began to imagine a younger version of herself pulling all-nighters nestled in a chair next to one of the windows so she could occasionally look outside at the moon to estimate the time of night.

_Perhaps I could persuade Minerva and Pomona to let me re-house, would the Sorting Hat allow such a thing?_ She shook her head, her eyes downcast, no longer transfixed by nature's beauty, _no, I am being ridiculous._

The Muggle-born turned around, her back now towards the idyllic scenery, to watch her sleeping lover. Viktor had exhausted himself with training and practising for most of the day. He wanted to get back into Quidditch now that the war was over and he was on top of it. His training schedule had been drilled into memories, he could go through them without a single thought. But there were times that he demanded too much of his body, that he crossed his own limits.

She decided she would join him during his morning exercises, to keep an eye on him and to slow him down for a little bit. Besides, becoming fitter could have a positive effect on the curse. It helped the mind and body.

A sudden crackle from the dying fire startled Hermione and she wheeled around with her wand drawn, but, obviously, no one was there. She was being jumpy, just like she had been when Skeeter had cornered her. Unwillingly her eyes were drawn back to the newspaper, at least with the little light in the room she could not see her own crumpled, but still scared face.

How many people would believe Skeeter? Would she get Howlers again, just like in the Fourth year? People could use her as a scapegoat to throw their bottled-up anger and fear from the last few months at.

Hermione let her shoulders slump at these thoughts. She hoped that someone in the post office would interfere, believing her to be innocent of the accusations... Or perhaps the owls would know better and refuse to deliver the post to her... Or maybe Minerva would do something about it...

A girl could hope.

She walked back towards Viktor and gingerly sat down beside him, careful not to wake him. He stirred nonetheless, he opened his eyes and looked blearily at her. He blinked several times and looked around the dimly lit room, then he reached out for her without saying a thing and tugged her towards him, wrapping his arms and the blanket around her torso. Hermione smiled as she complied with his silent request. She settled her back against his chest, with one of his legs on each of her sides. He took a deep breath and she knew from the way he shifted that he had laid his head back on the backrest. His breathing grew deep and slow within the blink of an eye.

For a dozen minutes, she did nothing but sit there and feel his chest move beneath her, making herself breath in when he breathed out and vice versa. It was calming and made her forget the feeling of helplessness. But she could not let go of the thought that people now knew what kind of wand she carried with her and it would only be a matter of time before someone who knew the original owner of the wand would reach out to Skeeter.

Her hands poked out from underneath the blanket and it was not long before she absentmindedly twirled Bellatrix' wand between her fingers. The curve in the wood had her interest, but what really fascinated her was how many gnarls were present on the wand. They were beautifully carved into adornments, complimenting the curve of the wood, but they were gnarls nonetheless.

She switched the wand from one hand to the other with some regularity, growing conscious of the way it fell into her grip. The whole object was so different from how her own had been; curved, of considerable length, walnut and with a dragon's heartstring. _Unyielding._ Even the handle was longer than her own had been.

In the beginning, the differences had caused problems, had made her clumsy, but she had long since gotten accustomed to the wand's size and handle.

Though she doubted the wand would ever get accustomed to her. After all, she, Hermione, was a Mudblood. And Bellatrix had tortured, killed and destroyed with the help of this wand. She had driven Neville's parents into insanity, killed Sirius and who else? How many nameless individuals had Bellatrix toyed with before she had slaughtered them one way or another?

But...

Bellatrix had learned the very basics - and so much more - of spellcasting with this wand as well. Years of dedicated study.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to envision a younger Bellatrix. One that sat in the library, bowed over a book with her wand in hand. But all she saw in her mind's eye was the deranged smile illuminated by a green glow. The Muggle-born quickly opened her eyes again to stare at the last smouldering embers of the fire.

Had an innocent version of Bellatrix even really existed? Or had she already been deprived of empathy when she had walked through the corridors of Hogwarts as a student? Hermione shook her head, unwilling to go down that particular rabbit hole.

For some time, she stared at the fire, once murmuring the incantation to reignite the fire. All the while her thoughts stayed with the wand; she knew that people expected her to get her own wand, Rita Skeeter had made that a pressing matter with that article of hers, she had made continued use of Bellatrix' wand impossible.

Hermione had to take Ollivander up on his promise. She had to make another visit to Ollivander's shop soon. She had to get herself a new wand...

Even though she was not sure if she wanted another.


	14. A day to Breathe

In the end, she dozed off despite her alert state of mind. Though it felt like she had closed her eyes for only a few seconds when Viktor gently shook her awake. However, she knew this to be untrue due to the first signs of dawn which were visible through the round windows and which made the dark room ever so slightly lighter.

She sat upright with a mutter and a stretch, blinking herself awake. She surveyed their unfamiliar surroundings. _Yellow? Why yell- the Hufflepuff common room,_ she reminded herself. _We are temporarily staying in Hufflepuff's House._

Hermione turned around and looked blearily eyed at her lover. He smiled apologetically and explained unnecessarily, _"I need to prepare for training."_

"Yeah..." She muttered, she was still not entirely awake and listened with her eyes closed to him as he gathered the books and papers scattered around them, accepting his kiss on her cheek with a satisfied hum. Then she remembered the decision she had made just a few hours ago.

"Wait," she said to his back, Viktor was already at the door to the boy's dormitory and turned around to look at her in a mingling of surprise and amusement. She smiled sleepily back at him and asked, "Do you have some sports clothes for me as well?"

* * *

Sweat was pouring from every plausible place on her body. It had drenched the bandages wrapped over her underarm, the salt festering in the wound, making it prickle and tender. She was clearly not as fit as she had believed her regular duelling would keep her.

As if reading her mind Viktor encouraged her, _"You're doing great."_

_"It certainly doesn't feel like it,"_ she said between her panting.

Dawn had made way for the fresh morning sunlight. They were running their second lap around the lake, before which they had done jumping jacks, sit-, push- and all kinds of other-ups, planking, knee and leg raises, squads, other muscle-specific exercises and all kinds of stretches.

Viktor had not once been impatient with his instructions. In fact, he had been smiling - if not grinning - whenever their eyes met, despite the fact that she clearly held him back on his training schedule, or perhaps that was the whole reason why this amused him so, because he knew perfectly well why she had joined him and thought it entertaining.

When they slowed down to a walk to give their muscles a cooldown, Viktor cleared his throat, _"Fleur came to our tent the morning you went to see the Death Eater."_

_"Oh?"_ Hermione panted, her interest was piqued, though a foreboding took hold of her all the same.

_"She was looking for you."_

_"Was she? What did she want, did she say?"_

_"She wanted to talk with you about the previous night, told me she had drunk too much wine and had been intoxicated when you arrived."_ He elaborated whilst he began to bring his knees to his chest with every step, effectively stretching some leg muscles. " _She had come to apologize."_

Hermione copied his stretches, a groan spilling from her every now and then, but she did not say anything else.

_"How did she react when you apologized for the... outburst?"_ Viktor asked, hesitating momentarily on what to call Hermione's reaction to Fleur's appearance during the argument.

She looked over to her lover, not at all surprised to hear that he knew she had apologized to the French woman even though she had not given him any reason to believe this. He knew her well. _"It didn't go... I...,"_ Hermione hesitantly conceded, _"I panicked and left too quickly, we parted with an icy awkwardness."_

He was silent for a few seconds, then he commented, _"She is of a proud culture."_

_"Isn't every nation?"_ Hermione asked this with a rhetoric air, though Viktor replied nonetheless. She stopped with the stretches and continued to walk normally.

Viktor did a few more before he too continued to walk, _"I meant her Veela heritage."_

She grasped his hand, squeezed it gently and let go as she said, _"I am aware, Viktor."_

Hermione frowned as she surveyed the scenery to her right, her eyes landed on a few ducks who were paddling over the lake's surface, quacking excitedly to one another. The knowledge that Fleur had tried to reach out to her only for Hermione to snap at her the moment they had been face-to-face did not sit well with the Muggle-born. Guilt had still lingered inside her even after she had apologized and now it re-manifested itself in her stomach, cramping it in a knot.

_"I like training with you,"_ he said out of the blue, effectively breaking through her train of thoughts. His expression was earnest. All the while they came to a halt next to the few discarded items they had left underneath a tree. He grabbed the water bottle and offered it to her.

She took the bottle and said drily, _"Well, aren't you lucky_ , _I planned to tag along every morning from now on."_ Though she knew she could not fool him, he would see through her attitude and know she was pleased at hearing his comment.

His charming grin appeared at the news, then he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, _"Are you ready for more?"_

Hermione shook her head carefully as she took a drink and when the bottle was from her lips she elaborated, _"No, I want to pay Hagrid a visit, see how he is doing. It has been a few days since I last saw him."_ She handed him the water bottle.

_"Don't sit still for too long, try to keep moving throughout the day, that will lessen the sourness in your muscles,"_ Viktor instructed, bent down to give her a peck on her lips, turned around and ran in the direction of the Quidditch stadium. His pace was faster now that he did not have to match Hermione's. She observed his posture as she watched him go and wondered if he truly needed to be in even better shape than he already was. _Silly man,_ then she thought fondly, _my silly man._ She tried to ignore the heat that spread to her cheeks, _For Merlin's sake, I am not a blushing schoolgirl._

She took her wand and banished the items that were still left in the grass to her bed in the Hufflepuff dormitory. After that, she made her way to Hagrid's cabin.

She found the half-Giant behind his house chopping wood. Uprooted trees laid near the edge of the forest, there was a trail of footsteps and the trees that had been dragged that came from the depths of the wood. Hermione had a suspicion that these trees were specifically selected by Hagrid, perhaps they had a sickness within them?

While Hagrid chopped, Grawp was helping him by breaking the uprooted trees in smaller pieces, first, the branches were torn from the trunk, then the trunk was broken in halves, and the halves into quarters.

To her delight, Hermione saw that Grawp's head was no longer covered in bandages, though the bruises which still covered his face were all the more visible, colouring it dark blue, yellow and all the stages in-between. As Grawp put down the most recently broken trunk he noticed the human walking their way. He bellowed 'Hermy' and showed a gigantic smile, he no longer flinched from the motion. His shout made Hagrid stir from the chopping, though the smile he showed was wan; he looked like he had slept little since she had last seen him. Unease and guilt settled inside her, she should have visited him sooner.

"Good morning, you two," she called as cheerily as she could.

"Hermy," Grawp rumbled in excitement, he practically bounced on his place. The stones and other loose objects on the ground around him rolling, bouncing and stirring with every impact.

"Mornin', Hermione."

Hermione heard that Hagrid truly tried to sound and be cheerful, but the smile did not reach his eyes, which seemed to have sunken in, much like his cheeks from what she could see of them from underneath his bushy beard.

"Hagrid..." She could not suppress the worry, when she was close enough she reached for his arm. And that was enough to break the dam, Hagrid had always been an emotional person and the war had not changed this. Tears gathered in his eyes as he looked down at her and covered her hand with his.

"It's just -" the first tear rolled down his cheekbone and into his beard, "- it's so -" the second and third tears followed, "- silent. The little feller -" Hagrid cleared his throat to try and get the croak from his voice; it did not work, "- always had somethin' ter bark about." And at finishing this recollection he broke out into sobs, hanging his head as his shoulders and body shook.

Grawp came closer and sat down, ignoring the broken trunks and branches, and hunched forward. "Hagger," this was clearly meant as a soft rumble, but with his face this close, his voice still sounded loud to Hermione's ears. He reached out and tried for a gentle grip, just like when he had last lifted Hermione from the ground, holding both his half-brother's shoulders with one hand. "Hagger," he repeated, this time sadness evident in his voice and features.

Hermione reached with her other hand for Hagrid as well, now holding both his arms as she battled her own tears. She did not dare open her mouth, afraid that she too would start crying. There was nothing she could say to lessen his pain.

Time trickled on, the Muggle-born had no idea how long they stood there, but by the time Hagrid's tears ceased there was a strain in her neck muscles from looking up at the two Giants.

"Sorry, I -" he began

"Hagrid," she interrupted him. His name, spoken in an admonished tone, was enough.

"Right," the ghost of a real smile appeared for a second. He cleared his throat again, "Can I brew ye some tea?"

"Yes, please," she smiled warmly at him, gave his arms gentle squeezes and let go of him. She mentally resolved to pay him a visit every day for the time being, as she should have done from the very moment she knew Fang had died.

Hagrid blinked furiously, his lower lip trembled a little but he turned and disappeared into his cabin before new tears could spring from his eyes.

Hermione turned her full attention to Grawp now that they were alone, ignoring the painful strain in her neck, "How have you been, Grawp?"

He did not move from his place, but he did lower his face a little more. "Hagger," he said, forlornly. The hand which had laid on his brother's shoulders now reached for her.

She let herself be picked up, though not without a simple request, "be gentle, please."

He scooped her up, gently, and brought her nearer to himself. He smiled anew, though it fell when he repeated, "Hagger."

"Yes, Hagrid is sad," she wondered if she should explain why, if Grawp would understand. "He is mourning -" _No, too complicated._ She tried again, "Hagrid is sad, he misses Fang."

The Giant looked at her, he blinked. Silence. He scratched his chin with his free hand.

For a moment she felt foolish for even trying, but then she reminded herself that he had learned not only names but also how to be gentle. This heartened her. Surely, given time, he could learn to understand basic emotions as well, "Hagrid is sad."

He grunted, looked over at the open door where Hagrid had disappeared inside and back at the young woman sitting in the palm of his hand. He grunted again.

She smiled ruefully and patted his calloused skin. It pleased him, calmed him down even, his confusion at the situation ceasing. He began to play with one of the branches on the ground, softly grunting to himself. Hermione was pleasantly surprised, for it sounded to her as if he were humming. And, all the while, she watched him. Only now that she was this close did she see how the previously bandaged eye was a bit milky compared to the other. She had a sinking suspicion that his eye was permanently damaged.

"Yer have to put her down, Grawp," Hagrid said as he came outside with a kettle and two bucket-sized cups. "Tea's ready."

Grawp objected to this with a frown and an indignant 'Hermy', as he lifted his hand with Hermione on it higher from the ground. The sudden movement made her yelp and clutch some of his fingers.

"Grawp!" Hagrid gasped, worry clear in his voice, "Gentle! Be gentle. And put her down. Now."

A gloomy grunt came from him, but he did listen this time.

When Hermione stood on her own feet she was slightly shaky, being reminded of her fear of heights like that was all but pleasant. Despite her distress, she patted Grawp's hand thankfully. He had not meant anything wrong.

"Okay there, Hermione? Here drink some, ter calm down." He gave her one of the bucket-sized cups, steam twirled through the air. Then he guided her to one of the trunks to sit upon.

"Thank you, Hagrid."

"Still learnin', Grawp is. Helps around with the heavy work. McGonagall is mighty kind for allowin' him on the grounds and out in the open, says he can until the start of term."

"That is very nice of her," she concurred. "Gives ample time to restore Grawp's previous cave. If it needs restoring at all?"

"Dunno," he shrugged and took a gulp of his tea, "haven't been there yet..." As he admitted this he gazed at Grawp's face.

Given this opportunity, she asked at once, though kindly, "How is his sight?"

Hagrid was silent for a while as he watched how his half-brother sulkily prodded the earth with the branch in his hand, "Has been better. Pomfrey can't do much, Grawp won't let no one near his eye but me. And I can fix a broken bone alright, or any festering body wound, but eyes... Nay, that is somethin' difficult. And I have no more Unicorn tail hairs, my house was burned to ash, remember?

"But I mix potions in his food, Slughorn sends new ones every few days. The eye is less milky than it was. There is hope."

As they drank and refilled their tea, they talked about Grawp, both their plans for the summer, a little about Fang - though this upset Hagrid once more to tears, thus there was little said - and about the upcoming medal ceremony.

After Hagrid's second cup (Hermione had barely drunk half of her first) they started on one of the patrols over the grounds, to survey that nothing was amiss. Between them hung the unspoken awareness of Fang's absence, these patrols had always been a joy for him; running about, retrieving whatever was thrown for him. And she noticed several times how Hagrid, when the truth slipped momentarily from his mind due to being distracted by their conversation, looked around for his dog only to remember that Fang would not come crashing through the wild shrubbery with a newly-found, prized possession. Hagrid's words would still on his lips or his voice would become strangled and Hermione patted his arm, or she gave it a squeeze and tried to bring him back to their discussion or simply let him be and waited.

Like this, they walked over the grounds and returned half an hour later to Grawp, who had stayed behind continuing with his work: breaking the felled trees into smaller pieces.

"Thanks, Hermione," Hagrid said, "this meant a lot ter me."

She smiled warmly at him, wanting to show without words that this was important to her as well, "Perhaps we can do the morning patrols together, I am going to be out and about early from now on and it is good to give the body a prolonged cooldown."

"I saw yer two runnin' this mornin'," he nodded, "trainin' for somethin'?"

"Yeah, Viktor wants to get back into Quidditch now that..." _the war is over._ Saying it aloud was still surreal, despite the fact that she was slowly going through her mental 'when the war is over to-do list'.

"Well, do both yer bests! See ye tomorrow." His smile was more evident than the earlier ghostly ones, though it was still broken and sad.

She hoped that Charlie's response would come soon, she was certain that it would do Hagrid good if he were able to see and perhaps work with Norberta, if just for a little while.

Once back in Hufflepuff's dormitory she gathered fresh clothes. The rooms were deserted, not strange since it was time for breakfast which made her realize how empty her stomach was. Her eyes momentarily wandered towards Fleur's bed, or, rather, what had been her bed, for William and Fleur had gone. To France or to Shell Cottage Hermione did not know but she was glad that there was no more risk for awkward meetings or charged silences.

In the bathroom, she undid herself from the sweat-stinking clothes, while her mind was elsewhere. Hagrid's tears were plentiful, something which did not surprise her, his love for Fang - and animals in general - transcended beyond the love he felt for (most) humans, or so it had always seemed to Hermione. And was it really so questionable, when many a wizard had treated him negatively merely because of his ancestry? Never had an animal judged him for his size, as it should be for wizards alike. Still, Hermione suspected the emotional state of Hagrid was more than mourning. Now that she could ponder over it in silence, she realized that this, Hagrid's pain over missing Fang, was likely a way to start processing the war, the battle and all that had happened, a way for him to mourn not only his beloved dog but everyone - the few humans who had loved him for who he was - who had given their lives willingly or not, in the battle against Voldemort.

She sighed as she tapped the shower and the spray of water rinsed away the sweat from her hair and body, though her thoughts were not as easily quietened.

* * *

It was during lunch that Hermione and Harry were reunited, though his relieved smile faltered when he saw how the red envelope went up in flames above the table in front of Hermione. The other people resumed their conversations now that the yelling had stopped. An uncomfortable tension hung in the air. Though he saw that Hannah Abbot - who sat a few paces away from Hermione with friends of her own - leaned towards Hermione, muttered something to her and smiled kindly afterwards. Hermione nodded and smiled back, then she returned her gaze to Harry and welcomed him.

"First howler?" He asked as he sat down beside her and put one hand comfortingly between her shoulder blades. He noticed the untouched Daily Prophet on the table.

"You didn't hear the voice bellow all the way down the corridors?" She asked instead of answering.

"I thought it was Filch raging at something Peeves had done," he shrugged, reached out a hand for the pumpkin juice and poured himself a cup. "Didn't really listen to the words."

"It is the third."

"The third?!" He straightened in shock, almost spilling the content of the cup in his hand.

"I received two during breakfast," she took a bite from her sandwich.

"Damn..." He muttered, momentarily lost for words, "how can people be so obnoxious? If it wasn't for you the war would -"

"You don't know that, Harry," she interrupted, not willing to hear it. "People are scared. Not all Death Eaters have been captured and here I am brandishing the wand from one of them."

"They are _using_ you," he said angrily, "using you to vent their frustration on. Does McGonagall know of it?"

"She hasn't been down yet, but I bet that she will hear one of them soon enough. Though there is little she can do, I believe."

"Hm," was all he said. After which they sat in silence while they ate and drank their meal.

"Want to go get Neville's presents?" Harry whispered when he had eaten the last morsels from his plate.

Hermione eyed him sideways and replied softly, "Last I heard the Aurors are still investigating down there."

"Since when has something like that stopped us? Need I remember you of St. M-"

"Alright, alright," she cut in, ignoring the grin on Harry's face as she did her best to keep a straight face, "Let's get going."

They were underneath the Invisibility Cloak as they entered the lavatory on the second floor. On their way, they had been met with Nearly Headless Nick, who floated up and down the corridor, patrolling it to keep any wanderers at bay.

As expected the door to the tunnels was wide open, an Auror stood 'guard', though apparently that meant he could lean lazily against one of the sinks whilst he inspected his reflection in the mirror, all the while muttering to himself at the flaws he saw, blaming 'that bitch of a war'.

Hermione recognized the man, it was Anderson, the same one who had grinned at Bellatrix' humiliation. Disgust for his vanity and his earlier behaviour rooted deep into her being.

A gentle prod from Harry moved her forward once more. He had no doubt seen the change in her body language. She prodded him back, just because she could and smiled overtly innocent at him when he shot her a look. He rolled his eyes and made for the entrance, she followed obediently. As they walked and reached the descending staircase another memory stirred in her mind.

_"Stolen, my wand was stolen! Filthy fucking Mudblood has it! I am going to -"_

Her eyes landed on the place where Bellatrix had laid slumped on the ground. What was Bellatrix going to do? Torture and killing afterwards? Or murder her at once, to not take any risks? She did not believe Bellatrix capable of such 'underwhelming' revenge.

A hand closed around hers and Harry pulled her down the stairs into the darkness.

Half an hour later they were no longer invisible, instead, they walked in the shadows cast by the torches. Which had not been here before, clearly the Auror department had made some changes in these tunnels.

A charm trailed behind the duo, ensuring them that no trail was left in the dirt and dust. Their Animagus forms enabled them to walk silently to human ears, though Harry's massive frame was a problem. Luckily, the Aurors were still a far way off, all they heard were the distant echoes of human noises. And since they were not here for the same reasons as the Aurors it was likely their paths did not even have to cross.

Both were sniffing their surroundings for any scent from the rare plants and mosses they knew were down here. They only had to suspend their search twice by diving away into the shadows of an adjacent, unlit tunnel when they heard how echoes of footsteps slowly came nearer. Once they watched from the dark as a witch hurriedly trotted past, the second time the nearing footsteps grew distant again, the two people - for they could discern two pairs of footsteps - had gone into another direction.

It was a while before they had found what they were searching for, but they did. Harry's triumphant snorting gradually transformed into soft whispers, "Snnn - fo - orrt - und, Her - sn - mione, come back here."

The vixen came galloping towards him and by the time she crouched down beside Harry she was human once more. "Ahh, you found Forked Arktiskadreao, fantastic! Neville will have difficulty cultivating it."

"He will love the challenge," Harry agreed, then he asked, "Do you know how to handle this moss?"

Hermione was already pulling a small pot, a hand shovel and gloves out from her bag. "You shouldn't touch it, it doesn't fare well when in contact with heat, even a human's body temperature is too much, makes it gradually die off."

"We haven't had this in Herbology, right?"

"No, not this specific moss -"

"Good, I am not demented yet," Harry said as he took the gloves and put them on. Then he took the shovel.

"- but the family has been brought up," Hermione continued unperturbed and watched her friend set to work. "Its class is called Arktisopsida. And the genera are commonly used in poisons to re-create the effect of frostbite. Though it can also be used in potions as well, the preparations for that are far more difficult, however, and the chances of failure are very high.

"The class is a close relative of Oedipodium from the family Oedipodiaceae. As well as the Andreaeobryum family. Those mosses can be found in Alaska and other northern European and Scandinavian countries. Even in some parts of Canada, I believe."

"Ah, but how come that this species is here in these tunnels?" By now Harry had cut the ground around the moss and was slowly, carefully working the shovel in the ground underneath.

Hermione did not answer at once, she had pulled out her wand and was currently enchanting the pot. It had to keep the ground and moss cool once it was put in there. "That is what I am wondering as well," she said after she was done. "I suspect that it has been smuggled here, but what I am most puzzled by is how it has survived without so much as a sliver of sun- or moonlight."

Harry abandoned the shovel once he was certain the clump of ground wherein the moss was rooted was truly loose and used his gloved hands to pick it up. With the utmost care, he put it in the pot, pressing on the earth to solidify the ground. "Well, this is something entirely different than a Mandrake or a Devil's Snare, isn't it?"

"You do know that you need to know this information if you want to become an Auror, right?"

Harry sighed and grumbled slightly, "Yeah, yeah."

She ignored his dismissive tone and kept her thoughts on the subject to herself.

"Perfect," Hermione commented as she held up the pot to inspect Harry's work. "I don't think we can put this in any of our bags, I doubt that our little plant would handle that well."

He nodded, "If we search further down this unlit tunnel I doubt we will encounter any of the Aurors."

Hermione hummed her agreement and transformed partially, so that her eyesight and hearing were just good enough to function in the complete darkness. Harry kept the gloves on and held the shovel in hand as he started forward, he too was partially transformed; his ears were still of human flesh but pointed like those of a stag, his pupils had become horizontal ovals and his irises a dark brown. She momentarily wondered how she looked, but did not ask.

They had been searching in silence for a while when suddenly Harry cleared his throat and spoke softly, "I have written to Andromeda, asking if I can come to visit Teddy and her."

Hermione was looking closely at a plant on the wall, but after a short inspection, she dismissed it as a relatively common sewer plant. "Truly? Has she responded yet?"

"Not yet, I sent the letter yesterday, so I expect she received it this morning."

She took five more steps before she stopped again and said softly, "I think I spotted something."

Harry came to stand beside her, "That looks an awful lot like a Snare or another one of those stranglers."

"But it is not. Look," she said and pointed at the buds gathered at the end of every slim, curly branch. "This is a Nightly Waker. They bloom only once a year, during a random full moon; there is no pattern to it, at least no one has found any yet.

"Their petals are among the ingredients used in the Wolfsbane potion. Which is one of the reasons why the potion is so expensive to make, for the petals are useless the morning after the flower has bloomed. They need to be plucked and preserved that very night."

"So, how to get it off the wall...?" Harry muttered as he walked around to see if there was a weak spot he could take advantage of. He wedged the blade of the shovel between two stones and moved it slightly up and down. Slowly the stone upon which the Waker had rooted itself started to stir with the movement. He did the same at other places.

The Muggle-born put the pot she had been carrying on the ground a safe distance away and reached up to manoeuvre the stone out from the wall. Dirt and dust fell when they finally freed the stone and plant, though as she heaved the stone away from the wall it became apparent how long the roots truly were. Two metres long roots had found their way between the stones to get to the earth which had been hidden behind it.

"Can you get a pot from my bag and enlarge it?" She asked as she carefully laid the stone and plant on the ground to start the process of detangling one from the other.

"Why not Banish the stone?" Asked Harry as he tapped the pot three times with his wand, with each tap it grew larger, and when he thought it big enough he began to shovel earth into it.

"I would rather not take any chances. The stone could take vital parts of the Waker's root system with it," she explained.

A quarter of an hour later they had the Nightly Waker potted.

"Let's go to Professor Sprout and ask if we can put these in the greenhouses," Hermione said. "She would be delighted to help us take care of them until we can give them to Neville on his Birthday."

"She will want to know where we got them," Harry argued.

"I believe that she will know the truth, or at the very least suspect it, without having to ask."

He was silent for a few seconds, "And what about Hagrid?"

Hermione snorted, "You aren't serious."

Indignantly he defended his opinion in a rising whisper, "He can be careful!"

She shook her head, "Let's get out of here before the Aurors will hear our disagreement."

Harry grumbled, took the Cloak from his pouch and threw it over them. Meanwhile, Hermione took a rope from her bag and wrapped and knotted this around the biggest pot to create handles, to make transportation easier.

"Accio Forked Arktiskadreao." The small pot came zooming into her outstretched hand. Then they both took a handle from the bigger pot and started their journey back to the castle in silence. All the while their eyes and ears were still partially transfigured.

Which was for the best, for there were a lot more Aurors in the tunnels than before. There seemed to be excitement; if it was from panic or triumph Hermione could not decipher. Was there a breakthrough? The Aurors did not give anything away, their faces were taut, even though some smiled in relief. Yet others had frowns of dismay on their faces. And most of them said not a word.

Harry and Hermione kept to the wall of the tunnels, once more in the shadows even though they were completely invisible, to keep out of the way. Their heightened senses came to good use. It was only when two important people came in their sight that they halted, rooted to the spot. Unaware of it herself, Hermione even stopped breathing.

Gawain Robards and Professor McGonagall were in deep conversation with one of the Aurors who clearly updated them on whatever he was leading them to. Their stride was determined and, in a way, even intimidating. Others parted for them.

As they passed the invisible duo, Hermione swore she saw her Professor's eyes glance in their direction. The Muggle-born froze but kept from making any noise.

When Gawain and Minerva were far enough away, Hermione let go of her breath and turned to look at Harry. She saw the desire in his eyes, he wanted to go after them, to get to the bottom of this. But she did not share these feelings and he knew it. For a few moments they communicated without words; it was their usual argument, the one they had several times each school year. At last, he gave in, slumping his shoulders before he continued to lead the way back up.

* * *

"Fascinating," Professor Sprout mumbled for the fifth time as she, once more, took a closer look at the two rare plants in front of her on the workbench. "And in the tunnels right underneath Hogwarts no less -" she clapped her hands in excitement, "- I have to ask Minerva to let me make a visit as well."

"So, you will help us to keep these secretly here until we can give them to Neville for his birthday?" Harry asked to clarify.

"Yes, yes, of course! My pleasure!" There was not a trace of insincerity in Pomona's voice nor features, she was practically beaming with giddiness. "Could take some samples," the Professor started mumbling to herself again, "cultivate them... useful to Poppy..."

Harry and Hermione shared a look.

"Right!" Pomona said promptly, coming out of her own reverie. "Let's make a cold and dark corner to put the plants and see if we can get the Nightly Waker accustomed to sunlight over time."

Harry and Hermione followed their Professor's every instruction and answered all her questions as best they could. And when those two plants were taken care off they helped with other tasks in the greenhouses. Professor Sprout was glad for the extra hands, she praised their hard work whenever she walked by.

And whenever their Professor was out of earshot the duo talked about the past couple of days. Hermione relayed her experience in St. Mungos, her first therapy session and the dream journal, and about the apology she had given Fleur.

"I should go to her as well," Harry grunted as he tried to wriggle stubborn roots into the soil. "Tell her I am sorry."

Hermione, who knew - and had shown Harry - where to grip the roots to pot them without as much of a struggle, took a new pot and reached for her third plant to repot as she said, "There was little you did wrong in regards to Fleur, it was I who snapped at her for no reason other than being caught off guard."

"Maybe," he muttered, took a moment to consider the wriggling roots and tried to grab them on the places which Hermione had pointed out to him earlier. "She and William visited the Burrow, but now that I think of it she hardly spoke to me, though we did greet each other."

Professor Sprout came walking in their direction, large, cotton bags filled with fertile soil hovered behind her as she led the way into a different greenhouse.

Harry cleared his throat in a manner that made obvious that he had something else to tell as well, but for a long while, he kept silent. Hermione waited patiently whilst she worked. Then, suddenly he said in a rush, "The other day Ginny and I had a long walk, we talked about certain things and decided to get together again."

The Muggle-born could not help the surprise from showing on her face as she looked up from her work, her hands stilled in their ministrations. The plant she had almost potted took this moment to wriggle from her grasp and start the journey back to its former, familiar pot.

Silence descended.

"Well," Hermione began hesitantly, looked down, saw the escapee and reached out to grab it again, "congratulations. What..." _What about Luna?_ "What has changed? Just a few days ago, you told me things weren't as they used to be."

"Yeah, well... they still aren't, but my feelings have not changed, I suppose. I still think about her a lot when she is not with me. And she makes me laugh, like Ron. The Weasleys are very important to me. And there are times that she just _gets_ me."

Hermione did not respond for a few moments; she continued to work, careful to keep her touch gentle for the plant's sake. Though her mind was elsewhere; to her ears, Harry's words had made it sound like she was among the people who did not get him. And maybe she was, because she had thought she had seen a budding romance where there was none, apparently. "I am happy for you then. How did Ron take it? Do Molly and Arthur know?"

"Thanks," Harry said, "we haven't told them yet. How do you even tell that? It just _happens_ , right? Ron is already suspicious though."

"It depends on what you prefer, I suppose. Viktor introduced me as his girlfriend to his family and friends right away, but perhaps it is just a difference in culture. Or maybe it's the situation, the Krums had never met me before, whereas you have lived with the Weasleys for at least a few days every summer since our first year."

"Yeah," he agreed and then made a happy noise, for he had finally managed to pot his plant. He thought it weird how the plants struggled until they realized that their new and bigger pot came with fresh and good soil. He turned to his companion expecting the slightest smile at his expense and a few kind words at his achievement, but she seemed oblivious of him, too preoccupied with her own thoughts. "Hermione?"

"Hm?"

"What's the matter?"

She blinked, looked at him and shook her head, "Nothing, just reminiscing." And she started to gather the freshly potted plants in the air to put them back on the plank they had previously occupied.

Half an hour later the duo was walking out of the greenhouse, Pomona having dismissed them with 'you two have done enough, come by whenever you like. See you at dinner!'.

They walked in comfortable silence back to the castle. At the oak doors, Harry turned to her to say something, but there was no need to, she saw it in his eyes. He wanted to know what was going on in the tunnels, why Minerva and Gawain had been brought down there.

"I know," she said, "keep me updated."

He closed his mouth and smiled slightly, "will do." And he went with determined steps in the direction of the Headmistress' office.

For a few moments, Hermione stayed outside, looking at the Quidditch stadium and wondering if Viktor was still there. But instead of going to look for her man, she went inside; she was going to make the visit she should have made a long time ago.

The matron glanced up from the potion she was brewing when she heard someone enter the infirmary. She turned her eyes back to her work once she saw that the new arrival was in no immediate danger.

"Miss Granger, welcome, please close the door behind you," she said whilst she stirred the blueish liquid - three times clockwise followed by half a counter-clockwise stir, only for the pattern to be repeated. "What can I help you with? Are you feeling unwell?"

"Well... sort of." Hermione began hesitantly as she took to stand and wait a few metres away from Madam Pomfrey and the cauldron, lest she would stand in the way. "There is something I should have asked your help with the second after the war ended."

"I see, take a seat in my office," she said and waved a hand in the direction of said room, the lock of the door opened with a click. "I will be with you shortly."

The young woman took a seat at the desk. It was a wait during which Hermione eyed the drying herbs which hung from the ceiling, identifying them one by one. Their scents wafted and mingled through the air as a breeze came from the window that was opened a crack. There was a single painting in the room, though it currently framed an empty chair; the one portraited was clearly elsewhere.

The matron entered the office and closed the door behind her. "Now let's have a look at you, dear," Pomfrey said kindly as she sat down, not in the chair behind the desk but on a stool with wheels. She rode next to the younger woman to start her examination. "Tell me what ails you."

And while her head was turned this way and that, the reaction speed of her pupils tested, her heart and lungs listened to, and her pulse taken, Hermione told of the wound on her left underarm. Not the why and who, nor the previous situation leading to the wound, just the facts. That it was a cursed wound, that she had the dagger that had been used to make it in her bag, that the curse made her dream the same nightmare over and over, that she did not feel rested without taking a Dreamless Sleep Draught, and how the wound could fester with and without apparent reason.

Pomfrey's eyes were worried and angry, filled with unshed tears at the end of Hermione's story, "Who did-" She stopped herself, took a deep breath and asked instead, "could you roll up your sleeve, please?"

The Muggle-born did as she was asked and all the while Madam Pomfrey gathered from several different closets and shelves fresh bandages, a small glass jar, a medium-sized bowl with lavender-scented water, a sponge, a hand towel and a pair of gloves, the latter was made of small, minty-green scales. She placed everything on her desk, sat down on her stool, took the bowl in her lab, let the sponge fall in the water and put the gloves on. Then she undid Hermione's bandages. At the sight of the word, the matron did not flinch but Hermione thought she saw her shoulders tense. Pomfrey said nothing about it, instead, she said sternly, "What I am going to do will hurt, you may grasp one of my knees with your other hand and hold it in a death grip for all I care, as long as you let me work on your underarm."

Pomfrey took Hermione's left arm by the elbow and held it above the tub. The Muggle-born gasped in shock and pain the moment the water-soaked sponge was carefully held against the letters M, U and D. The matron held it there for a few moments, took it off and began to dap the letters and the flesh around them. It stung and Hermione balled her right hand into a fist, while she bit on her lower lip.

The whole of her left underarm was meticulously cleaned, the water in the bowl was coloured red at the end of it. And she was relieved when it was over.

The towel was soft and Pomfrey was careful not to touch the wounds directly this time, she only dried the uncut skin. When she opened the jar, Hermione saw a beige salve of which she did not recognize the scent. She gave a questioning glance to which came a softly muttered 'Helios root'. And that was when Hermione knew that the previous pain was a mere laughing matter to what was to come.

Once she cried out, at the letter B, where Bellatrix had cut deepest of all. And by the time the ointment covered every letter, silent tears trailed down her cheeks. And, to her embarrassment, she had indeed a white-knuckled grip on one of Pomfrey's knees. But she did not let go until her underarm was skilfully wrapped in fresh bandages.

Pomfrey gently patted Hermione's right leg, "You did well, dear. Give it a few more minutes and you will feel the pain completely disappear." Then she stood up, took her wand and made the bowl and other objects fly to the basin to be thoroughly cleaned. She turned back to Hermione and looked down at her with a small smile, "You are in good health; your rosy cheeks are a testimony of it. What I am worried about are those dark circles under your eyes, not to mention the curse.

"That's why I propose that you sleep here for a while, then we can regulate your sleep pattern and make sure your body will truly be able to rest."

"T-that would be nice, to e-enjoy a regular amount of sleep," Hermione stuttered softly, all of a sudden, she felt battered. She had functioned on very little sleep that day and after all this pain exhaustion seemed to have caught up with her.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes roamed over her, scrutinizing her, then she took to stand at Hermione's right side and said, "Let me escort you to one of the beds, Miss Granger. I will help you into your pyjamas, make a call to the kitchens for some dinner to be served here and inform the Headmistress and your friends on your whereabouts. I will make sure you will learn how to take better care of yourself."

And the matron kept her word, she took care of everything.

Viktor came by at once and stayed to eat dinner with Hermione, sitting next to her on the bed. They told each other about their days in whispers, she also asked him if he could make sure that Harry had a bed to sleep in and knew where she was, and they made plans to sport early next morning. Their plates were empty for barely more than a minute when Madam Pomfrey announced that she planned for Hermione to be asleep within ten minutes, 'to get a head start in the recovery of a normal sleep pattern.'

When her lover had gone and she had brushed her teeth the matron came to Hermione with a glass of water and a potion bottle in hand. "How late do you want to wake up, dear?"

"I... I need to be in Diagon Alley before daybreak," she said hesitantly.

The matron gave her a scornful look, "Ridiculous, Miss Granger. How do you plan to get enough rest if you keep such inhuman hours?"

Hermione started to explain, hoping that her arguments would be enough to persuade the stern woman, "It is only for this once, Madam Pomfrey. I have no doubt that you read the Daily Prophet and the article Rita Skeeter wrote about me. I plan to..."

* * *

Abigail watched with a neutral expression as the figure stirred, she was at ease even though she sat in a cell with a killer. Instead of her wand she held a quill in her hand and had a clipboard with parchment on her lap. She waited patiently for Mrs Lestrange to wake up, ready to scribble down whatever would be relevant to the ongoing investigation and for later reference.

Bellatrix stirred underneath the blanket, the movements erratic and weak. First, a hand became visible, it clutched the edge of the blanket. Unhealthy thin fingers balled into a fist. Though it was a long time before the blanket was slowly pulled off, with moments that movement ceased altogether, at such times a rattling cough sounded.

When the blanket was lowered enough to enable light to fall through a crack inside the pit of darkness a hiss could be heard from the woman, the hand let go of the cloth and disappeared underneath the blanket once more. And for a long while, there was no more movement other than Bellatrix' rhythmic, wheezy breathing.

Abigail could not yet see Bellatrix' face but she knew that the woman was adjusting to the light, letting her eyes get used to it.

Once more fingers came in sight and the blanket was again being pulled off, this time with a constant movement. At last Bellatrix freed herself, though not without more coughs crashing through her body.

When she had been brought in, among the first thing the Healers had done was bathe her in herbal water; to try and stabilise the weak body and cleanse all the mud, piss and vomit from her hair and body. It was a huge improvement but now one could see all the better how ill and underfed Mrs Lestrange was.

The Mind Healer wrote it all down; she had known that her patient was far from healthy and that it was not ideal to wake her yet, but keeping anyone in a comatose state for too long brought more damage to their mental health than the person's awareness of the illnesses that raged inside their body. Besides, they had not the luxury of time, both the Auror and Mysteries department breathed down Abigail's neck, wanting answers from the Death Eater.

With uncoordinated movement and a grimace of pain, Lestrange was able to sit upright in bed and swing her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her naked feet touched the cold floor. The blue hospital garment almost made her innocent-looking, with her confused and pained expression.

"Wha -" Bellatrix croaked, but an intense cough interrupted her. When it subsided after a minute the woman tried again in a whisper, tired already because of all the effort sitting upright had taken from her, "What... what date is it?"

Abigail sighed heavily, though no real emotions were evident on her face nor in her voice as she said, "As you should know from your previous imprisonment, I am not here to answer any of your questions or demands.

"Now, let's talk business," she continued in all seriousness, "are you hungry?"


	15. A quarter past 3 am

With a gasp the old man startled awake, his eyes wide open and alert as if he had been doused with ice-cold water. His heart hammered erratically against his breastbone, yet during those few moments, there was not but silence in the house, when suddenly those same knocks sounded.

Ollivander blinked, whilst he reached for his wand on the nightstand. Fear ran through him, memories of his house being on fire resurfaced. But back then no one had knocked on his door, they had simply set it all to flames, smoking him out of his own house. Only when it had taken him too long to find a way out of the blinding smog had someone grabbed him roughly and dragged him out. The rest was history.

Now, no fire licked the wooden panels of his floor, there was merely the insistent knocking.

Mentally calming himself the wandmaker took to stand and made his way, wand at the ready. He made a detour to the closet, took a thick woollen coat and put it on before he walked from his bedroom into the living room, bumping only once into a chair as he shuffled through the darkness.

Once he was at his shop's door Ollivander used the tip of his wand to draw back the curtain. He sighed when he saw a familiar woman on his doorstep, one who smiled faintly and gave a friendly wave. The streetlight made her hair, that was held back in a ponytail, appear a softer brown than usual.

But what if this was Polyjuice Potion tricking him? He had not thought twice about it when she had entered his wandstore during the day, but now... How late was it anyway?

The young woman, who watched the wandmaker attentively, saw the hesitance in Ollivander's face, the fear in his eyes. He had not moved away his wand, it still pointed directly at her. She had previously realized that making this early unannounced visit could trigger memories, despite this, she had hoped that this would not be necessary. With a deep breath, she started the process of slowly taking her wand from its holster, all the while making sure that the wandmaker could see her every move through his window. Slowly she opened the mailbox of the door and held her wand through it, handle first, for Ollivander to take.

Anyone else in the world would suspect her of proffering a fake wand, if they had any self-preservation and some good sense, but she knew that Ollivander would recognize his own creations anywhere.

She watched as the wandmaker took the wand and she closed the mailbox once the crooked wood had completely gone. Patience was what she needed now, but the reason why she was here had her insides buzzing in an uncomfortable excitement. To stop herself fidgeting she buried her hands in the pockets of Fleur's bloodied sweater. And still the door did not open, she wondered what Ollivander was doing. For a second fear jumped onto her, would he snap the magical wood in two? But then she told herself that this was _Ollivander,_ he would _never_ do that to a wand.

It was then that she heard how the first lock was taken off its guard, accompanied by a ward that was sequentially deactivated. The sounds of a second and third combination of lock and ward being taken off followed.

And then the door creaked open, Ollivander smiled apologetically and proffered the handle of her wand to her, "I presume that now is the right time to get you a new wand?"

Hermione smiled humourlessly, "It would seem so, yes."

"Come inside, Miss Granger."

She did as she was told and heard him reapply the locks and wards behind her whilst she studied his shop, it looked very different in the half-dark. The streetlights created a lot of shadows with all the wand boxes sticking out of the closets.

"Skeeter has visited me," Ollivander said as he walked to the back of his shop and into a cramped corridor, he motioned for Hermione to follow him. They walked past hundreds of small boxes, which seemed to be randomly stashed. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered how the man could remember where he had placed every wand.

The wandmaker led her into a small room where a workbench stood in the centre, wood chips were scattered on the surface, but no actual wand-in-the-make laid there. With a snip of his fingers, Ollivander made not only two chairs appear, but the fire in the hearth also flamed to life, basking the room in warm light. Now Hermione could read the titles on the many spines which stood in bookcases and on top of shelves. But she could still not detect a single thing which was related to the making of wands except for where they were supposed to be made, the workbench itself.

As she took a seat Hermione was about to open her mouth to make an enquiry on how Skeeter's visit had gone when Ollivander spoke again, "Want a cup?"

"Of coffee? Yes, please."

Ollivander's naked feet pattered over the wooden floor as he disappeared into another small room, the sound of a kettle being filled with water sounded through the shadows.

Hermione stood up to follow him and made sure her voice was loud enough so that the old wandmaker could hear her, "What happened when Rita Skeeter came to see you, sir?"

A cluck of the tongue, "In this house there are no heavy subjects before my morning coffee."

The Muggle-born bit her tongue to keep herself from voicing her impatience, the man had started talking about it himself, after all. Instead, she watched from her place at the edge of the fire's light as Ollivander rummaged around in the dark kitchen. The only light source in the kitchen was the fire of his stove, it created sinister shadows on Ollivander's face. Within ten minutes of silence, two large mugs of coffee were served on the table.

They both sat down, their mugs clasped in their hands, nursing the warmth into their cold fingers and hands. After more silence and several sips of his coffee Ollivander decided to give her an answer.

"She showed up around noon. Waited in the corner until all the costumers had left. And then -" BAM! Ollivander slammed one of his hands on the surface of his workbench, whilst holding his mug in the other, "- she put those horrid photos on the counter. Asked – nay demanded - I say who the original owner of the wand is. Ridiculous."

Hermione nodded, taking this as another confirmation that Ollivander had not told the journalist anything, which she believed to be true since Skeeter had not published Bellatrix' name in a single article related to her. Then she asked, "Did she leave you alone after that?"

The old wandmaker snorted, "Of course not. The woman has tried to bribe me numerous times since, but those letters are good fuel for a fire, so I am not complaining." He smiled his warm smile, one she had last seen when they had stayed at Shell Cottage. At this reminder a memory of Fleur smiling sadly at her resurfaced in Hermione's mind, she tried to forget about it by saying, "Thank you for-"

He waved her words away, "If you ever thought I would contribute to such antics then you are a fool.

"Now, your new wand..."

"Yes," was all Hermione was able to say, her throat suddenly had a lump in it. All her focus was on the wandmaker.

"Most of the wand boxes you have seen are empty, as my lifework..." _was destroyed._ He could not say it out loud and after a few heartbeats continued, "What I have in my shop are the wands of other wandmakers from around the world. I have selected every wand myself, so don't worry, I still know every single one by heart. And I think there is one that suits you, very much like your previous wand."

Hope bloomed inside Hermione, her eagerness obvious in her growing smile. She had been reluctant to get a new wand, but at these words... A wand much like the one with which she had started her new life as a witch, with which she had learned all the magic spells she knew to this day. She was reminded of the ease with which she had conjured magic, instead of having to force the wand to listen...

"Can we try it now?" she asked, a quiver evident in her voice.

Ollivander nodded, as eagerly as she felt, the coffee clearing away the sleep that had clouded his eyes. "Wait here."

She did not listen, she decided she had waited enough that morning and followed him back into the cramped passage with the many small (and mostly empty) boxes lining in the closet.

He clucked his tongue as he looked at her over his shoulder before he took the ladder, put it on the right spot and climbed it to reach out for a certain box. Hermione wondered why he did not keep the few boxes actually filled with wands in a reachable distance from the floor, but she did not ask. Suspecting it had something to do with ordering wands on their wood, or core, or the energy, or whatever else there was to a wand.

When he stood on the floor once more he shooed Hermione backwards, "Well, go on. You are not going to try this out here, too many things can go wrong."

Hermione tried to argue, "Harry made a mess of this passage standing all the way-"

"Shush," the wandmaker said and again began to gesture for her to move. "Get going."

The young woman walked back into the living room, but not without trying to salvage her pride, "I am a full-grown witch-"

"And ignorant of wandlore," Ollivander added almost happily and continued talking about the instrument he proffered to Hermione, "This wand is much like your original one. The only difference being the place it was made and by whom. For it was in the Alpes that young Mr Humbert merged the wood with the core. Still a young lad, but a steady hand for wandmaking."

Hermione listened to Ollivander whilst she opened the lid of the wandbox and took the wand carefully out. There was no biting magic hurting her fingers; no angry, purple sparks. A surge of relief went through her, she had almost forgotten how a wand could lie _neutrally_ in her hand.

All the while, the old wandmaker observed it all, having fallen silent when he watched her take the wooden handle, eager to see how the two would match.

She raised the wand, channelled her magical energy and waved it.

BANG! A flash. The wand shot out of her grip, white sparks accompanying it. With worry in her eyes, she watched Ollivander hurriedly scutter after it, "I - I am so sorry - I - I don't know - what happened just now?"

There was muttering, "Should have known this would happen. Foolish, an embarrassing mistake."

Hermione's blush only intensified at hearing these words.

A dark frown was on Ollivander's face when he returned with the wand. It was not broken, to Hermione's relief, though she did not dare to move or breathe.

When he looked up at her, after placing the wand back into its box, his eyes were gentler, but the frown was still there. "Not this one, too willing.

"Your interaction with Black's wand has changed your flow of magic, I hadn't thought your signature would adapt this fast and therefore hadn't taken that into my equation. This was not your fault, Miss Granger."

At these words, Hermione felt the blush of shame reside slightly, though the guilt still twisted inside her. It made her hesitant to grab the next proffered wand but she did so all the same. This time she made cracks appear in the surface of the workbench.

"Not that one either," Ollivander muttered as he gently caressed the cracked surface, his hand circling over it while his magic slowly repaired it. "There is no chemistry."

Then he snipped his fingers and where the previous wandbox had been was now a different one, "Try this one."

In one of the coffee cups appeared a small flower, though right after its appearance, the plant started to grow and – ultimately - wilt, leaving behind only shrivelled leaves.

"No, not this one either."

"Isn't the flower a good sign?" Hermione asked with a defeated sigh, handing back the wand.

"It was too pale, too lifeless" Ollivander shook his head, "you are forcing your magic to please."

He took the wand and its box and wandered away to a dark corner where Hermione had paid little attention to before. Instinctively she knew that it was a place heavily laden with charms, undoubtedly with a disillusionment somewhere between it all as well. She watched his back as he rummaged through the stuff she could not see, he reached for something on a shelf yet her eyes could not follow his hand. There was more to this than simple disillusions. Her curiosity was spurred, but she kept herself in place.

When the wandmaker came back Hermione saw he held a different wand - unrefined - in his hand, no box in sight.

He started explaining before she could make an inquiry, "This one isn't finished yet, the wood is unpolished and I haven't even started on the handle. But... it has a stronger personality, something you seem to need from your wand, nowadays." He gave a sad smile, which looked all the more melancholic in the flickering light of the fire.

Hermione did not respond, unwilling to acknowledge his observations. Instead, she took yet again the proffered wand, channelled her magic and made a gesture.

Sparks. Dark purple. Hermione recoiled from them, Bellatrix' wand made those same sparks whenever she thought of her own morals. At once she laid the wand on the workbench, despite being familiar with them, she had no interest in having multiple wands in her possession that had the same temperament.

Hermione was still looking distressed at the wand when she heard Ollivander speak up, she turned to look at him and his eyes were not fixated on the wand, like she expected, but on her. "Well, by Merlin's…" Ollivander said as he tugged at a handful of hair on his balding head. A puzzled and intrigued look was visible in his expression.

She desperately wanted to say that it was not her but the wand, she was not the cause of this, but all she could do was swallow the words away.

"Can I see your current wand again, Miss Granger." His tone of voice made clear it was no question.

With even less enthusiasm Hermione offered him the handle of Bellatrix' wand. As he took it, the corners of his lips turned upwards but it was no smile. A grimace? She tried not to worry about it.

Unlike earlier that morning Ollivander took his time to take a closer look at the wand. He casted magic, tested and changed the way he held the wand. With him the wand did not act up; no stupid purple sparks, no dishonest spells, not once. It listened to his every movement, utterance and will. Hermione could not ignore the twinge of envy she felt for the easiness with which he handled the otherwise by default temperamentful wand.

"Is it because you are it's maker that the wand lies this readily in your hands?" She asked, making sure to sound neutral.

"Indeed," was all Ollivander said, no explanation followed, no quip nor any teasing. He was completely focused on what he was doing. It made Hermione suspect there was more going on than she could see and feel. And for the first time she wondered if wandmakers truly were so different from ordinary wizarding folk like Ollivander had mentioned in Shell Cottage.

After a few more spells Ollivander gave a sigh and handed the crooked wood back to her, then took the wand that laid on the workbench and walked back to the dark corner from earlier.

"There is no other wand I can think of that would suit you," he sighed again when he returned to her side, "every wand I have is too willing or too... simple.

"I have no other vine wood wands at this moment, something that obviously needs to be remedied... but after this..." Ollivander hesitated in his words, starting to talk more to himself than to Hermione, "I wonder if vine wood is still your type of wood or... what if... ?"

"What if Lestrange's wand has affected my spellcasting?" She finished for him, finally desperate enough to point out the obvious.

"That too, yes."

"And what else, sir?"

"Don't concern yourself with that, you wouldn't understand." He shook his head and began to walk, motioning for Hermione to follow him.

"But I want to know about the lore of your work, try me."

"Oh, really?" He looked at her pointedly before continuing to lead the way back to his shop, "You and hundreds of others." His words would have been harsh, but his tone was somewhat gentle, tiredness lurking inside him. He had heard this many times before.

They were both silent until they reached the door, Ollivander looked up with a warm smile, "Perhaps I will tell you tidbits, but another time. Now get out of here, there are wands I need to create and I don't appreciate company when I work."

"Of course, yes – I..." Hermione hesitated, uncertain if he meant he would be making wands with her in mind, or just wands in general.

"I will send for you when the time comes," he reassured her at seeing her expression, whilst tapping the locks on his door, though not yet opening it. "And, Miss Granger, one last thing before you go, it's only a matter of time before Aurors will come by and ask after the wand you are carrying, if no one else has blabbed by then. I won't make it easy for them, but with the right documents, I will have to comply. Be prepared for their questions."

* * *

The Muggle-born was a few minutes too early. While she waited for Hogwarts' clock to peal she watched the lake. No tentacles were nearby the surface, waterbirds were peacefully swimming about, searching for food or cleaning themselves.

It worried her that Skeeter felt free enough to harass Ollivander for information. Hermione wondered what had changed that Rita felt secure to do these kinds of things again. She remembered the encounter clearly, Rita had said something about a visit to the ministry. There were only a few things that could have happened there and none of them would be easy to find out on her own, not even with the Invisibility Cloak at her disposal.

A peal sounded from the clock tower, indicating that it was half-past four. Somehow reminding her how tired she already felt, even though she was awake for barely two hours.

" _He didn't have a wand for you."_

Hermione turned around and asked lightly, _"Why are you so sure of that?"_

He smiled wryly, _"You would be holding it out proudly, casting magic everywhere. So, how did it go?"_

" _It was... weird."_

He gave her a light peck on her lips, _"explain why."_

She told him everything which had happened in Diagon Alley, including the embarrassing destruction she had caused. All the while Viktor took her through the same exercises as before. Easing her into the jogging slowly, knowing very well that her muscles were sore from the previous day.

When she had finished her story he said, _"I wonder when he will contact you. How long does it take for him to make wands?"_

"I have no idea," the Muggle-born huffed between breaths, not bothering to talk Bulgarian. "Is that known of Gregorovitch? His way of working?"

" _No, he was known to be secretive about his line of work, despite his arrogant nature. He took his knowledge with him to the grave."_

"He didn't teach his ways to students? Some kind of successor?"

" _Not that I am aware of, but there are new wandmakers who-"_

At that moment Harry ran up beside them, "Why are you or sound asleep or not there at all whenever I come looking for you in the Hospital Wing? Are you avoiding me?"

"Good morning to you too", Hermione smiling despite herself.

"Had a good night?" Viktor asked, though his tone was light Hermione suspected he knew the answer already. She glanced at the dark circles underneath Harry's eyes.

"No... nightmares," Harry did not elaborate and changed the subject, "What were you talking about?"

"Wands and the process of making them," answered Hermione.

"And the vandmakers," added Viktor.

"Ah, have you been to Ollivander?"

"Yeah, it did not pack out well."

"Bummer, Hermione," Harry reached out to pat her on the shoulder, "Perhaps in France or Germany there is one?"

"Maybe, but for now I will wait for Ollivander, he said he would contact me if he had any new wands."

At this Harry simply nodded. They were quiet for a while, as they jogged around the lake.

"I know why Gawain was at Hogwarts and why he and McGonagall were called into the tunnels," said Harry when they had almost jogged a full round and he glanced from Hermione to Viktor and back to her.

She answered his unspoken question,"He knows, I told him during dinner."

Viktor indicated that they needed to do their stretches and Harry and Hermione followed his example, all the while, Harry told them everything, "They found something, destruction of some kind. During the time Bellatrix was holed up down there, she was busy at the doors to the Chamber; apparently the doors were completely blackened and partly melted due to her magic. But that was not why McGonagall and Gawain had been summoned, there is a theory as to how Lestrange had been able to escape into the tunnels."

"Why did Gawain have to be summoned for that?" Groaned Hermione because they were doing a particularly painful stretch. Viktor quickly reached out and repositioned her, softly repeating that limits should not be breached endlessly. In her renewed pose she continued, "Minerva's presence is understandable, as the Head of Hogwarts, but why summon someone all the way from London, for something that can be relayed through a fireplace call?"

"I didn't ask, but isn't it just logical for the Head of Aurors to be summoned for such an important investigation?" Argued Harry.

"In Bulgaria, such people mostly stay in their offices, though the younger Head's still do a lot of field vork, 'most vanted people' being their favourites to go after," Viktor added his opinion. "Though, for notorious people like Lestrange, office vorkers often make exceptions."

"Hm," was all that came from the Muggle-born.

"Minerva wouldn't tell me anything about this theory of escape, though. Saying that there are still some rules she cannot breach, even regarding us."

For a second Hermione wondered if she should still put work in the forming of her own theory since the Aurors seemed so close to figuring it out. But she dismissed the thought before it could manifest. Naturally, she would continue her research.

"I wonder if the Chamber can still be opened after what she has done to it," Harry muttered.

"Let's at least wait till the Aurors are gone, before we make the visit," Hermione tried to reason, knowing fully well that Harry would go without her if she did not come with a sound argument.

"But what if they undo the damages? I want to see it with my own eyes. Maybe they missed something."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Viktor was quicker, "They can't, traces of most dark magic are permanent. If they vant them gone they have to replace the vhole thing. Vhich is not possible, right? Every stone of Hogvarts is bestoved vith enchantments." He straightened and began to walk, the other two falling in step beside him.

"But what if she used different means to destroy the doors?" Harry said, not wholly convinced of Viktor's certainty.

"The mere fact that she was able to create damage at all..." Hermione muttered.

"That isn't so strange, right," Harry said, "Hogwarts' corridors and whatnot have been demolished before. Remember those dung bombs Fred and George..." He trailed off after mentioning Fred.

"I suppose that's true," said Hermione quickly, in an attempt to stop what was already happening.

Viktor cleared his throat, "Could I come vith you, vhen you tvo go?"

Hermione smiled up at him, his sudden shyness amused her, but she said nothing. Harry nodded absentmindedly as he stared in the direction of Hagrid's cabin, "Of course, of course." By now they could see Hagrid in his garden as he was fussing over Grawp, who let his brother tend to him with only the faintest of struggles.

"I do wonder what they have found which was groundbreaking enough to get Gawain and McGonagall to come down there," wondered Hermione aloud as they walked. "Lestrange had nothing on her when she got captured, not even a wand. I am certain the escape route had been prepared beforehand, but something went wrong..."

"Let's continue this later," Harry said, smiling and waving as Hagrid looked around at them following Grawp's line of sight.

Viktor nodded and said, "See you at lunch." His fingers brushed lightly against Hermione's before he started to jog away.

"Don't overdo it," she could not help but yell after her lover. He waved his hand to show he had heard her.

"Says you?" Harry said as he bumped their shoulders. "The one who buries herself days on end in research, forgetting to eat and sleep."

"You are no better," she countered, pushing him away playfully, "with your tendency to look for trouble when it doesn't come to you."

Harry grinned and somehow Hermione was reminded of Fred and George whenever they took credit for a prank well done. It had become a bittersweet memory.

"Good mornin'. He still doesna want to tag alon'?" Hagrid asked as he looked at Viktor's retreating back towards the Quidditch stadium.

"It has nothing to do with you, he is really focussed on his training," Hermione explained.

"How is your morning, Hagrid?" Harry asked, he obviously tried to look happy, but he could not fool Hermione. She knew he noticed that Hagrid had lost weight.

"Not too bad," Hagrid said, patting his brother's knee, "Grawp's eye is doin' better every day."

Grawp grunted, slightly miffed. Which made Hagrid actually smile as he patted the knee again, "He never likes them potions."

"That is great," Harry said, looked up to Grawp and asked how he felt.

"Hagger here," he grunted, "better."

"Good to hear," Hermione smiled briefly, making Grawp smile in the process. Then she turned to look earnestly at Hagrid, "You will join us for breakfast, right? After our patrol?"

The half-Giant nodded, "Yeah, course, could do with some company."

This time Grawp followed them around over the grounds, lumbering a few metres behind them, grunting now and then. While they talked during their patrol, Hermione noticed that Hagrid was less on the lookout for Fang compared to the day before, Harry having his full attention as they talk. The latter did not surprise her, she knew that Harry held a special place in Hagrid's heart.

"Oh, by the way," Harry said, his tone catching Hermione's attention, as looked directly at her, "McGonagall wishes to speak to you about something. She asked me yesterday to tell you, but when I came into the Hospital Wing to check on you, you were already asleep."

Curiosity and dread stirred awake and mingled inside her. She nodded to indicate she had heard but she said nothing, her voice feeling suddenly constricted. She knew what this was about, she had seen - but not touched - the headline of the newspaper. It had arrived at the infirmary the previous evening just before Pomfrey had given her her dose of the Dreamless Sleep draught.

With her eyes, she searched for the tower in which she knew the Headmistress' office to be situated. Though she was not certain which windows belonged to the office. Unfortunately, no light shone from behind any windows, leaving Hermione still wondering if Minerva was awake or not.

"McGonagall will be awake soon, if she isna already," commented Hagrid at seeing the change in Hermione's expression. Then he pointed towards the tower, "Look, smoke is coming from the left chimney, only two rooms are connected ter that one. Both are hers."

She nodded again, "I will go to her after our patrol."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," he said, not unkindly, "One better goes when bein' summoned by the Headmistress."

Harry spoke to her in their way, _I will stay here, see you later._

The Muggle-born took a quick detour to the showers and was knocking at Minerva's door a little less than twenty minutes later. Her hair was still slightly wet and leaving damp spots on Fleur's sweater, but she did not bother with a drying spell, nor to put her hair in a ponytail.

"The door is open," came Minerva's invitation.

Hermione took her usual seat opposite Minerva, "Good morning, Professor."

"Morning, Miss Granger, have some tea. How was your first night at the hospital?"

She took the cup of tea offered to her, "Like I never got out of there, Madam Pomfrey has not changed a bit."

"I am glad to hear it," Minerva said with the ghost of a smile on her lips, but when she continued she grew all the more serious, "Now about those howlers, I have had a word with the owlery and sent a note to the post office. This will get sorted out, don't worry. Not a single of those red envelopes will ever be delivered to you again, not while you reside between these walls."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said with surprise, a relieved sigh followed suit. She wanted to say more but there was a sudden lump in her throat, but it had nothing to do with the dread from earlier. An act like this made so much difference for her, she would no longer need to keep her pride intact whilst some stranger's voice yelled at her. She looked down at the cup of tea she was nursing in her hands, the heat spreading through her fingers. "I am very grateful," she said softly. Though when she looked up to meet her Professor's eyes again, she could not hide the expectancy written all over her face, she had been summoned here for a reason and here she was.

"I see that you know why I asked for you to visit," Minerva stated after a moment of observation. Her voice was gentle but otherwise neutral.

"Yes, the newspaper..." Hermione trailed off, there was not much more she knew about it, she had _seen_ the paper, had seen the headline, but she had not touched it, afraid of what might be written in there.

"Indeed. I asked Kingsley and he told me that they are on it, there are tracks the Aurors are following. Europe is where they are now, but their sources are spread thin-"

Because of the headline, Hermione had a suspicion what this was about, of course, but she was uncertain enough to brave an interruption, "Are you talking about the perpetrator who destroyed my home?"

"Perpetrator _s,_ Hermione, it's plural," corrected Minerva and without missing a beat the Professor added, "You haven't read the article."

Though it was not a question the Muggle-born nodded, not comfortable sharing the truth, that she simply had not the mind to read the news lately.

The Professor said nothing at first, nor did she show any change in her expression, which was nothing new to Hermione though it was not for the first time that she wished she could read McGonagall better. Dumbledore had never been one to hide his emotions or thoughts when in a discussion with a student.

But then she nodded in response to Hermione and continued where she had been interrupted, relaying more information now that she knew her pupil not to be up to date, "All the affected houses have been searched and set up correctly, they will fool the Muggle investigators and their tests. Our own forensics have been very throughout - as I said earlier - they have found evidence, though very vague and probably left there on purpose. Still, some of our Aurors are set on it, others are on the search elsewhere.

Resources are spread thin, Aurors are needed everywhere in the country, which is why I deem it my responsibility to accompany you to your home if you wish to visit it. Gawain cannot spare the manpower to ensure your safety, but we all know how magic can fool the most skilled. So, please, humour me when the time comes that you want to visit the remains of your home."


	16. Like Ice, but different...

"Then we have an arrangement," Minerva took to stand next to the open doors leading into the Great Hall, "I will pick you up after breakfast tomorrow morning."

Hermione nodded, then asked, "You aren't coming, McGonagall?" Indicating the breakfast table with a tilt of her head.

"No, not today. The elves will have set something for me on my office table, do say hello to Mr Krum for me."

Hermione wished her Professor an enjoyable meal and turned to walk inside the Great Hall. Harry was already there, sitting a bit further away from the others.

"Where is Hagrid?" She asked as she sat down opposite him.

"He is giving Grawp more of his medicine, said I better go ahead before breakfast is cold."

Frowning at the answer, Hermione murmured, "I do hope he will come."

"He will, I threatened we would bring breakfast to him otherwise."

The Muggle-born smiled at hearing that and nodded her approval, then started to gather some food on her plate. They ate in silence for a while, half-heartedly listening to the conversation of others at the table.

Though before long Hermione's thoughts were not with the conversations around her, but rather with what had been happening in her own life. And with her visit to Ollivander fresh in her memory, she soon wondered how long it would take for him to contact her. _How does he gather his materials? Does a wandmaker have stashes of materials in their home? Or do they only go outside to search for materials when some kind of sign, one that only a wandmaker knows how to look for, appears? Perhaps a sparkle in their morning coffee? Though even if wandmakers usually have stashes, it is more likely that Ollivander has none, with the recent events. Then does he need a week to gather everything? Two? And how long does it take to make a wand? Probably a few-_

It was then that the post arrived, successfully breaking Hermione's train of thoughts. Harry too looked interrupted from his own thoughts. Besides an elderly owl who delivered the Daily Prophet, there was a strong-looking Eagle Owl who landed with finesse right next to Hermione's full goblet. The elderly owl glared at the young one who preened besides it.

"No Howlers," commented Harry with relief as he gave both birds a few slices of meat whilst Hermione concerned herself with what was delivered, not listening to him. The newspaper laid mostly forgotten next to her plate, it was the letter which held her attention. It looked like the sender had forgotten to place any charms on it, the paper and ink had weathered during the long distances the owl had clearly flown. Despite this, most of the words were still legible and it made the Muggle-born brighten up so much that Harry leaned over the table to get a look whilst he asked, "What does it say?"

"It's from Charlie!" Hermione whispered excitedly, "He has arranged that Hagrid can stay with the Dragon Keepers for a few days. Charlie will take Hagrid with him right after the ceremony. He will finally see Norberta in her natural habitat. Hagrid can go to Romania!"

"That's fantastic," Harry said in surprise, looking from the letter to Hermione and to the Eagle Owl, surprise giving way to mirth. He reached out to stroke the breast feathers of the owl, who fluffed themselves up even more, proud at their accomplishment. The older owl had gone the moment they had gotten their treat. "I can't wait to tell Hagrid."

"Tell me what?" Asked the half-Giant, who had somehow managed to enter the Great Hall unnoticed by the two Gryffindors, as he sat down and looked curiously from one to the other. The bench creaked slightly under his weight.

Unlike earlier that morning Harry's beaming smile at Hagrid was genuine, convinced that this trip would do Hagrid immensely good, "You will be going with Charlie after the medal ceremony, to see Norberta again!"

"I will- wait- I- what?!" Hagrid's shock was obvious in his features and voice. Then in the softest whisper Hermione had ever heard from Hagrid, he repeated Harry's words, "I will see Norberta again?" His tears at this realisation came as no surprise to Harry and Hermione. But he smiled through his tears and Hermione felt hope for her tall friend's mental state blossom inside her.

* * *

Abigail walked through the empty corridor, looking at the equally empty cells; all but one. In her hands, she held her tea but she had no desire to finish the beverage and banished the cup back to her office. A moment later she came to a halt before Bellatrix' cell. Which was shockingly empty. She became rigid at the sight. "Crockwell," she barked out.

"Yes, Healer Smith?" said the Auror in question as he marched towards her, coming to a halt at a respectable distance.

Calmly she said, "Explain to me why Lestrange is out of her cell."

"Deputy Macmillan walked in over an hour ago, he took Mrs Lestrange to be interrogated under influence. Said you knew of it."

"Did he now?" Abigail was not surprised at hearing that, though it was a bit earlier than expected, "Thank you, you can go back to your post."

While the Auror walked away Abigail touched the bars, they created an entrance for her by sliding with a rumble to the side. She stepped through and sat down to wait on the single chair in the cell. The Mind Healer took paper and quill and wrote some of her thoughts down. It was not long before Abigail heard footsteps enter the otherwise silent corridor. A tall, muscular man came into view who held a chain in both his hands. He was obviously fuming; he glared, his muscles and body taught with anger, yet he did not do anything rash. Not once did he pull at the chains, he made sure that Lestrange had the opportunity to walk on her own two feet and at her own pace. Though her steps were more like stumbles than anything else; weak and fragile. Nowhere near as precise and dangerous as Bellatrix was known to be. And yet she still managed to look somewhat arrogant, despite the obvious exhaustion rimming her eyes and her sickly coloured skin. But besides this and the blood dripping from her nose down her chin, there was little to be impressed by.

"Welcome back, Lestrange," she said neutrally, "want to refresh yourself before I take a look at you?"

Bellatrix ignored her as she stumbled inside her cell, the bars grinding back to their original place behind her, the chain now dangling between them with the tall man still standing in the corridor.

"I take it that she didn't budge?" Abigail asked, looking at him questioningly.

The tall man snorted, affronted by the mere suggestion, "No, of course not."

Another male voice sounded, his voice becoming louder as he neared the cell, making no effort to mask his annoyance, "Well, excuse me for trying the generally successful tactic on the unsuspecting or weak target. For all we had known, Lestrange could have been both. "

"This woman is a sociopathic murderer, if there is one thing she is not, it's 'unsuspecting'," tall-man seethed through his gritted teeth as he rounded on the spot to glare daggers at the other man.

Who, unsurprisingly, did not flinch, instead he glared right back. His response came readily, calmly, "You don't know until you have tried. Besides we did get her to exercise her ability to keep from talking whilst under the pressure of both Veritaserum and your stoic gla-"

"Stop your nonsense," growled tall-man, interrupting him, "stop wasting my time!"

"What is so wrong about trying? It would not be the first time it had proven to be enough to break a skilled person's mind."

"Why did you not want me there, Macmillan?" Abigail asked neutrally, hoping to keep the argument from escalating. All the while, she started to undo the shackles on Bellatrix' wrists and neck.

Macmillan broke off his glare to look at her, "The war may be over but bureaucratic bullshit still continues, you should know better than to believe otherwise."

"Don't assume I believe anything," she retorted, "answer me instead."

He shrugged whilst he started to write something on a form, "Gawain did not want you there, obviously, the less the better."

Tall-man made a choking noise, grabbed the paper, shoved the chain he had been holding into Macmillan's hands and marched out of the corridor. Macmillan sighed and looked worriedly after his colleague, but did not say or do anything else.

Abigail did not look up from loosening the last shackle, "Be more careful with him, you aren't helping Richard if you keep acting like this."

Now she got Macmillan's glare directed at her, "Mind your own business, Healer. We are not your patients."

She straightened and narrowed her eyes at him, "Indeed, you are not, but Richard is my friend and if you keep at it like this you will drive him off his rockers."

"Shut it, Smith, you don't know about the overwork he has been doing. He won't listen to a word I say about it! At this rate, he will work himself to death. So I would not mind him 'off his rockers' as long as he still draws breath." Macmillan sighed and pinged the bridge of his nose, his shoulders sagging slightly, "Any minute I can get that brute to do anything other than burrowing himself into searching for leads, I consider a personal victory."

Abigail still looked at him, not impressed; though she was biased, she had never liked Macmillan and the feeling was mutual. However, at seeing his genuine distress about the situation she kept the sharp reply from leaving her lips. Instead, she said, "Be on your way then and keep an eye on him."

Macmillan sniffed disdainfully and as he walked in the same direction as Richard had gone he said over his shoulder, "We will continue to interrogate Lestrange, at differing hours, under influence, you know the drill."

The Mind Healer did not respond, instead, she focussed absentmindedly on her patient. Now that Bellatrix' lied on her cot, the exhaustion was plain to see. Despite this, she had been able to keep from talking, to keep control over her mind and body. Abigail wondered if this woman's mind would ever break and when it did, what kind of effect it would have on her person. Lestrange was already a psychiatric patient, years of Azkaban had made sure of that, she was this meek only because of her drugged-up state.

"Sit up, Lestrange," she said, "I need to check your health."

The dark witch kept her eyes closed and did not comply, her breath came slowly and steadily. She was fast asleep.

* * *

Harry and Hermione walked out of the greenhouse in the direction of the castle. They had just tended to the plants they had gotten from the tunnels and had helped Pomona a bit with other plant-related tasks. Lunch would be served soon, they were both hungry. Though Hermione looked forward to going to the library afterwards, she was lagging behind on her reading material and she was still not certain her theory about Bellatrix' escape to be true.

"So, what did Minerva want to talk with you about?" Harry asked suddenly.

She sighed, the subject was not really an easy one, "It was about my home. The investigation is over, they found some leads, though believe them to be false but they will follow them nonetheless. I am free to make a visit, though it had to be soon. Because the Muggle investigation can be withheld only for so long. And Minerva is adamant about accompanying me since the Auror department can't spare any of their personnel."

He turned his head to look at her and said resolutely, "I will be coming with."

"Harry, don't be absurd-"

"No, I am not. I will be coming along, end of discussion."

Hermione frowned at his tone, "Only if you won't go down the tunnels without me and Viktor."

This shut Harry up for a second, though a smile replaced the momentary surprise, "Deal."

In a way, it was ridiculous that they had to argue about this, they had gone through a war together, for Merlin's sake. And yet... It almost felt like they were back in their First Year, when the dangers of a Second Wizarding War had not been hanging as prominently above their heads as it had the last few years. From his expression, Hermione saw that he too noticed the weirdness of the situation. A sparkle glittered in his eyes and a second later he laughed out loud, soon followed by Hermione.

When they regained themselves Harry bumped his shoulder against hers playfully. This made him notice her attire and what he saw made a frown replace his smile, "Hermione..."

"I know," she said quickly and averted her eyes, looking at the grass and up the hill towards the castle, "I know, Harry."

"Do you?" He muttered as he touched her elbow and grasped the fabric of her sweater to tug gently at it, making her halt in her steps. "You are wearing Fleur's sweater all the time, you need to talk to her."

The Muggle-born looked back at him, her eyes explaining the reluctance she felt, the fear of being rejected, of truly losing a precious friendship that already seemed to be lost.

He saw it, he recognized it, and yet he continued to urge her. With his body language he told her, _it will be alright._

 _You don't know that,_ she gestured with a tensing of her shoulders and the flick of a hand.

"I don't," he conceded, "But if you let it be like this, nothing is going to change."

"Harry, drop it," Hermione sighed, "last I heard, she and William were in France, and I am not going across countries to have a conversation with her."

He looked at her, his frown still there, he was clearly puzzled by something.

Even though it was Harry who looked at her like this, it unnerved her. "What?" She snapped.

Harry was not intimidated, "It's just..." He hesitated for a moment, "Don't get me wrong, I don't mean this nastily, but you... You always knew exactly what I or Ron were doing wrong or not understanding in regards to girls. When Cho was crying during our first kiss, for example, I had no bloody clue what was going on. And now you are the same, or seem so, anyway. What is the difference, what has changed?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose at hearing that, after a few seconds she said, "I suppose... I... Fleur... She seems..." She shook her head and started to walk again, deciding they would make a detour to the lake. Ducks quacked and flew away as the duo neared the shore. This was the first time she really made herself think about it, albeit being forced to do so. What had kept her from contacting the quarter Veela? "It's just... During our days at the Cottage... My friendship with Fleur came so naturally, it grew into a close friendship so quickly... Then suddenly something weird happened, I don't even really know what, and we went away to go after the Horcruxes that same day and... and... it has been weird and awkward ever since."

Harry was quiet, this was not new to him, he had watched it all happen and had heard about the weird moment between Fleur and Hermione in the garden. Carefully choosing his words, he said, "So... you know what went wrong... And yet you won't have a conversation with her about it?"

Now she frowned too, annoyance started to gnaw at her, but she knew he was right to point this flaw out. Her reasoning for what had gone wrong was not an excuse for not reaching out to the quarter Veela. Her shoulders sagged, the frown still in place, "You just can't let it go, can you?"

"I'm sorry, love, I just... I worry about you."

"You don't have to, Harry, I am alright."

"You say that and I believe you, but I just can't help but notice how you have changed the last few months."

She looked at him then, a bit surprised that he felt the need to talk about something that seemed so logical - so obvious - to her. But she took him seriously, always would, and answered him, "We all have. You, for one, seem less afraid of sharing your thoughts on feelings or, in this case, on confronting me on mine. That's what war does with people."

"I think that it is just you rubbing off on me," he said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, "finally, after all these years."

"'Ha-ha,'" the Muggle-born said sarcastically, "I take my words back, you are still a teenage boy who knows nothing about women."

He chuckled lightly but said nothing else, he gazed over the lake's surface. There was a sadness evident in the way he carried himself. She could not put her finger on the reason - there were far too many possibilities - but Hermione knew something bothered him. Without hesitation, she took his hand in hers. Harry gave it a squeeze, though his eyes did not waver from the scenery of the lake. Hermione watched him and felt gratitude wash away the earlier annoyance she had felt for Harry's prying, he was, after all, her dearest friend. He, of all people, was allowed to meddle in her personal affairs. No matter how painful they could be.

For a while, they walked hand in hand, unbothered by the silence whilst the sun warmed their skin whenever there were no clouds to hide it from view. Harry was the first to break their comfortable bubble, "How has Luna been? She has not been around for a while."

She hummed her agreement, "I got a letter from her, three days ago, her father is not doing well, hasn't been for a while. So they decided to stay at an inn, close to her mother's grave."

"Ah," was all Harry had to say upon hearing that news.

"And the Weasleys? How are you and Ginny?"

"It's been really nice to be with her again. I am going there tomorrow, after our visit to your... to the remains of your home."

Hermione did not respond; suddenly, the feeling of suffocating unease jumped her, constricted her throat. Sometimes the realisation that her house had been burned down, penetrated her shield, the walls she had erected to protect herself. Death Eaters had gone after her parents, only to be disappointed and set flame to it all. But the fact that her parents were sought after...

Harry squeezed her hand again, he looked at her worriedly, "Let's go inside, it's lunchtime."

The way back was silent, but this time it was charged; fear had gotten into her, it's teeth buried deeply into her flesh.

When they walked through the double doors of the Great Hall Hermione let go of Harry's hand and said softly, "I will be in the library, I am not hungry."

"Wait, I will be coming along, I want to look some stuff up as well," Harry said and quickly took an apple and banana from the fruit bowl on the table.

It was a lie and they both knew it, but the Muggle-born was grateful for his company, knew she would only worry about his safety when separated, in her current state of mind. And knew that he too would only worry about her, though more about her mental state than her safety. Or maybe both.

Together they walked into the library and seated themselves in their favourite reading corner. Hermione took all the books from out of her shoulder bag and continued where she had left last time. Meanwhile, Harry had taken several books from the shelves, one on Herbology and another on the History of Quidditch, and began reading them, at times taking a bite from his fruit.

Hours went by in which the only noises were their breathing, the turning of pages and the scribbling of a quill on parchment. It was just like all of the hours they had spent here through their years at Hogwarts. And ever so slowly, in the comforts of what she had always loved to do, Hermione relaxed again. The fear for her parents' well being stayed, that was not so simply shaken off, but at least the direness of the situation simmered down. Because no matter what she would do - sitting and waiting for morning to come or running straight away to what had once been her home - the destruction had already happened. It was a fact she could not change. And her parents and Crookshanks were in Australia, safer than in Britain so long as she did not lead any Death Eaters to them.

Outside dusk had fallen and at some point during the day, a house-Elf had stealthily awakened a fire inside the nearest fireplace, neither Harry nor Hermione had been aware of it at the time. Though they were grateful, for it crackled pleasantly and heated their little corner.

"I think I got it!" Said Hermione excitedly and slammed her book closed for good measure, eying the sleeping figure next to her.

Harry, who was brutally awakened from dozing off with his head on his arms, started to stretch and righten himself as he looked at her expectantly. "What exactly?" Then the sleep lifted from his mind and it clicked, "How? How did she survive the Killing Curse?"

"She did not, if I am correct she was never even in contact with it," Hermione said, picking up the parchment she had been taking notes on from the very start of her research and pointing to a section at the top of the paper. "At first I believed the energy of the Curse to be the source for escape, to trigger a charm or enchantment or something alike. Overgo a principle with another and you have a blind spot, simply put. However-"

"You are talking too quickly, skipping stuff," he grumbled, interrupting her. With his hands he rubbed his face roughly, getting rid of the last bits of sleep, and asked, "could you start over, please?"

"You're right, sorry," the Muggle-born said as she proffered Harry her notes. Which he accepted and took a quick look at, afterwards gazing back at her expectantly.

"What made me look into this- you were battling Voldemort, or was about to, so you didn't see- but maybe you have heard it by now-" she shook her head to stop her rambling and started anew, "so Lestrange... Upon being hit by the Killing Curse, she disintegrated into ashes. After thinking it over a few times, it struck me as odd. Never has any of our Dark Arts teachers mentioned anything about ashes or the body of someone disappearing after being hit by the Killing Curse. So I gathered whatever book I could find on the topic and started my research. As I kept reading my suspicions were affirmed, one does not simply become ashes after being hit. _Unless_ they have dabbled into the making of Horcruxes. It's possible that Lestrange, too, has sliced her soul into parts, but I just... I don't... I wanted to know if there were any other alternatives. Just to be sure... After all, we didn't know she was in the tunnels. And I just..." she trailed off, unsure of what to say. She bit on her lower lip, momentarily lost in her thoughts, I just had to know, there was this unease...

Harry nodded, believed he understood what it was she was struggling with and reached out to lay a hand on one of her knees, "I get it, I am here."

Hermione took a deep breath and began to explain, "At first, I thought it to be solely the energy of the Killing Curse Molly had shot, that Lestrange had been able to use this, warp this into a different spell or make it trigger an escape route. Some kind of Portkey, one which needs an extra boost of sorts. But most of the books did not specify if it was at all possible to do this or not. And the few books who did, all denied the ability to divert the meaning of the curse into something less destructive. Saying as the power of the caster's hatred to be too prominent for the making of a neutral - let alone a positive - spell. The only logical solution to that would be to recast the energy into another dark spell. Which would be an impressive feat of itself and theoretically possible... But doing so at au moment du suprême is incredibly risky, it has never been practised successfully, for obvious reasons.

"Therefore another mechanism would be needed to guarantee success. And that is how I came to think of dark rituals, through some of the darker Herbology topics.

"It is considered a myth, even among skilled practitioners of the Dark Arts, at least it is said so in this book -" she pointed at a crimson cover in the pile of books with poisonous green letters on the spine, "- but Voldemort loved myths and using them - re-creating them - to show just how powerful a wizard he was. The making of Horcruxes, the diadem of Ravenclaw, the Elder Wand. So, if what I have found is to be true, we can even add successful transportation using 'Quartsdium' to the list of Voldemort's achievements... That man... Harry, he was such a powerful wizard, it's outrageous." She did not feel the admiration she had felt for the invisible web of spellcasting Bellatrix had left behind in the tunnels of Gringotts, there was a disgusted tone to her words. All she could see before her mind's eye was the starved man who had lunged for her whilst she had been disguised as Bellatrix, begging to know what had happened to his children.

"If only he had used it for the good," said her companion bitterly, a dark look sparked in his eyes.

She nodded, almost absentmindedly, whilst she stared into the flames of the fire and added, "I have to find out how it was made possible... It's highly dangerous, incredibly so, the rate of Spilching is so much higher than with Apparation. The few times Quartsdium was experimented with, tried out on people sentenced to death, those people would appear on the right spot, but with all of their vital organs missing... Which is among the reasons why it is considered a myth, why Quartsdium is not believed to be possible. We know too little of it to be sure that this has ever been done successfully, there are only the handful of essays that confirm it to be possible to this day. Saying that given the right amount of energy... but what if there is more missing? What if there are more spells or enchantments needed than we are aware of?"

Harry still had a frown on his face, his gaze having transferred back to the parchment in his hands, reading the words on them. They were silent for a few minutes, as he took it all in. Hermione, too, was occupied with her own thoughts, going through the whole of her research. Reliving the rollercoaster of feelings she had undergone at first, whilst merely suspecting Bellatrix to still be alive and keeping this theory to herself; fear, shock, nervousness and unease. And once she knew Lestrange was actually alive and captured, sheer determination had taken over. She had to find out what had been the method of escape.

"How did you figure out to look into Herbology? Why not Transfiguration? Or Potions?" Harry suddenly asked and looked at her, the dark frown replaced by puzzlement.

"McGonagall gave me a hint a few days ago. At first, I looked only for explanations in the Dark Arts, but she told me to look into Herbology as well. To broaden my search. And I know that Dark Arts and Herbology combined make for herbal rituals, which is why I knew I had to specify my Herbology books on these kinds of magic and spellcasting."

"So Minerva already knew about the method of escape?"

"Yes, I believe she did."

They were silent again, but not for long. Harry sighed, shook his head lightly and eyed his watch, "If we are quick we can still grab some dinner."

Hermione did not want to go, despite the hunger that gnawed at her insides, she wanted to continue with her research; to write it all down, every detail, and reference her sources. To read the books she had yet to touch, her research was not truly completed yet. But instead of saying so, she nodded, grabbed her shoulder bag and summoned the books, ink, quill and her notes into it. Ready to follow Harry to the Great Hall.

* * *

Her head, heavy and clouded. Thoughts which did not make sense, she did not register them. Though she knew it was because of the food. Poisoned, drugged. Still, she ate, knowing they would drug her anyway. No matter if she stopped eating or not.

But more than that basic understanding - that the fog in her head was not from illness - she did not understand. Only when invaded - her mental privacy, people trying to make her talk through a truth potion and Legillimency - did the fog lift. Somewhat. It would lift enough for instinct and honed skills to kick in. Make them angry. A cackle bubbled inside her at hearing their frustration, at knowing it was there, but it would not come. A cough instead, shudders all over her body. Weak. Her Lord would be ashamed. But he would get her out, he had to, she was his most loyal follower.

There was something though, a feeling, a knowledge. Yet she could not recollect it, it made her sleep uneasy, exhausting her all the more, despite the drugs in her system.

* * *

A steady rhythm of footsteps announced Minerva's coming. Harry was the first to turn towards the Headmistress to wish her a good morning and explain his and Viktor's reasoning to tag along. All the while, Hermione quickly finished telling Viktor about her findings. Last night, during dinner until just before getting her sleeping draught from Pomfrey, she had told him the redlining of her discovery and she had used this hour and a half to go into the details of her research. Not exercising that morning had given her the time she needed for it and also granted their bodies a bit of rest.

"That's amazing," said Viktor quietly after she had finished, a proud smile adorned his lips as he gazed at her. Hermione wanted to ask jokingly if he meant Lestrange's achievements or her own, but kept herself from saying anything as Harry and Minerva came to stand with them.

"- always welcome," was all which Hermione caught from Minerva's response to Harry, then the older woman nodded towards the other two and said, "Let's make our way to the gates, our Portkey lies there."

The four of them walked over Hogwarts' grounds, Hagrid waved at them from his garden and the group waved back. Seeing him prompted Hermione to tell Minerva about the trip she had organised with Charlie.

"Hagrid came to me, he told me about it," Minerva nodded, looking forward again as they continued to walk. "I made arrangements with Gawain to sent some people to help with Grawp's cave, we need that place to be ready and safe for Grawp to stay during Hagrid's absence."

"When will that take place, Professor?" Asked Harry.

"They will arrive tomorrow, it was quite a struggle to make the arrangements, but they will arrive here at 11 o'clock. And before you ask, Mr Potter," Minerva said with a look at Harry, "ask Flitwick if you can join them. He will lead the party together with Hagrid. I cannot accompany the team, there are other matters I will be occupied with."

"Like the tunnels?" He asked almost neutrally, though hope was still present in his voice. Then he quickly added, "Professor."

Hermione frowned at Harry, trying to convey to him that he was acting like his Third-Year-self, but he ignored her.

The Headmistress was not impressed by his need for answers and, without missing a beat, said, "Mr Potter, as I said before, I cannot breach certain rules. You want answers, I understand that, but you will have to wait nonetheless." They had arrived at the gates and with a wave of her hand, Minerva made them open. Not a squeak was heard from the hinges. "Our Portkey stands at our left, behind the oak tree."

Viktor was the first to reach it and picked up the partially burned wood. He looked at Hermione questionably, "It's from your house?"

"It's from one of my father's study chairs," she said softly as she came to stand next to her lover, recognizing the intricate carvings adorning the wood. The fact that her home had been burned down came closer than ever before and all the more real. She had to blink several times before her sight was no longer blurry.

A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder, "I am sorry, Miss Granger, I had to pick something which truly belonged there, as you know."

She nodded, "I do, Professor."

"Good. I suspect we won't be walking into an ambush," Minerva said to them all whilst she pointedly put her hand on the carved wood Viktor held, "but, suffice to say, do keep your wands at the ready. Also, the place is warded, so Muggle's who pass by will not see us."

When Harry and Hermione had followed her example and gripped the wood as well, the Professor voiced the trigger-word. In a flash, accompanied by the unpleasant feeling of the hook behind the navel, they travelled across the country.

As they landed within the dark and burned remains of her home, Hermione felt sick. Not only because of their means of travel but from what she saw around her and the nerves that had settled inside her. For she knew that McGonagall had questions about the whereabouts of her parents, why the Grangers had not been there at the time of the break-in and had yet to turn up in the Ministry's search.

Around them, the walls were mostly still standing, though blackened and with cracks. As they walked through the house Hermione noticed how there were a few bits and pieces of furniture left, though all were burnt like the carved wood that had served as a Portkey. But there had been few furniture left behind in the first place, she knew, for she had made sure her parents would take everything important with them.

The Muggle-born was vaguely aware that Minerva told about the findings of the wizarding investigators and explained what the Muggle forensics would be made to believe in a few days' time. That it was not magical fire which had set it all aflame, but that it was truly the gas explosion they had suspected it to be from the start.

The Professor continued to tell about the perpetrators, which are believed to be Death Eaters, yet the number of people was still a mystery. Though one had gotten caught in the Fiend Fire, their remains were currently studied in the Ministry. That they believed to know the identity within 24 hours. And that the Department of Mysteries had begun to aid the Aurors in their investigation.

However, though being the slightest bit aware that it was told, all this news fell on deaf ears; Hermione was unresponsive. Her mind was elsewhere, with the 'what if's' and the realization that she was truly homeless now. And far worse: there were killers after her parents. Through her parents, they would get to her, and through her, they would get to Harry. It had been the whole reason for Obliviating them. And still, to be confronted with this sight...

"Hermione," Minerva's brogue was slightly audible, "are you alright? Come here, have a seat." With a single tap of her wand on a piece of wood, Minerva conjured bits and pieces into a cough. And reached out for her student, to guide the stunned woman.

When she sat down, Hermione looked up at her mentor, blinked and said, "I am sorry, Professor, I- I didn't listen to what you said."

"That's quite alright, I should not have waited to tell you here, of all places. But it has been hectic at Hogwarts, I simply forgot..."

Viktor and Harry were with them in the same room. The latter stood at a hole in one of the outer walls, where a window had once been, looking out over the street. All the while, Viktor quietly walked around, studying the remains of his lover's house, a place he had never been before. In a way, he too felt like something was taken from him, the opportunity to see where Hermione had grown up. Now he regretted that he had always asked her to come to Bulgaria in the summers. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, angry at himself.

Minerva continued to speak as she sat down at the other side of the cough, giving Hermione some space, "I will tell you everything you want to know, another time. But there is one thing I do have to ask you... The Ministry planned to send you several documents to read through and answer, but after a word they refrained. However, they still need to know what happened..."

Of course, the Muggle-born knew exactly what McGonagall meant and needed not to hear the words to start her tale. Her sight became blurry once more, but no matter how much she blinked, Hermione could not dispel the tears. They streamed down her cheeks as she told her Professor everything she had done to ensure their safety before the start of the Horcrux hunt. Minerva listened silently, her expression was stern, but as time passed her eyes softened ever so slightly.

She did not promise to help Hermione to find a cure for the Obliviated minds of her parents, she did not say it would be alright, nor did McGonagall shush her when the tears became too much. Instead, Minerva held Hermione as she broke down into sobs, she rocked her gently in her arms. Stroking brown curls out of Hermione's face as the young woman lost her bearings.

Their travel back to the castle went by in a haze. The Muggle-born was only vaguely aware of being brought to the nursery, where Pomfrey gave her a potion against the shock, after which she was made to lay down on her bed. She could not sleep, but the warmth of the blanket around her did comfort her. Harry and Viktor stayed around, talking about the happenings during the last few days; about the tunnels and the damaged doors to the Chamber of Secrets, about Bellatrix's capture and what had happened to the Death Eater since. They also wondered about the Goblins and when the moment would come that Harry and Hermione could go into their vaults without any problems. And if Kingsley even had the time on his hands to negotiate with the Goblins on their behalf. And what about Grimmauld Place, would it ever be safe enough to live there again?

Hermione mostly listened, only a few times did she pipe in with her own opinion. However, whenever Pomfrey was close by they would divert the subject to more neutral waters, like Hagrid's upcoming visit to Romania and how it would be to live and take care of dragons, or how Kreacher was doing, if he liked the temporary stay and work at Hogwarts.

Just before dinner, Pomfrey let them know it was alright for Hermione if she wanted to stretch her legs. The trio made their way through the corridor leisurely.

"In a few veeks, the halls vill be teeming vith students again," observed Viktor, "Strange, isn't it?"

"Yeah," breathed Harry, his hands in his pockets as he looked through an archway into the empty courtyard. "Yeah, really strange."

Viktor halted in his steps and cleared his throat, to garner the attention of both companions. Both Harry and Hermione halted to look at him.

"I vanted to vait till ve vere alone," he said, looking at Hermione, "but now is just as good a time. I didn't tell you, because I vanted it to be a surprise, but I have applied for several Quidditch teams, including the Montrose Magpies."

Hermione's surprised curiosity transformed into an incredulous smile, "And you got accepted." She did not even formulate it as a question.

Viktor grinned at them, but he had mostly eyes for her, "I did."

"Congratulations!" She beamed, reached out to wrap her arms around her lover's neck and kissed him, though not for long because she had the urge to clarify, "So you will be close by during our last year?"

"Yes, that's the plan," Viktor smiled, one arm around her waist as he looked from her to Harry, who was beaming as well.

"That's fantastic, you will be in a top-three team!" Said Harry excitedly and raised his hand for a high-five, "And! We can meet up every Hogsmeade weekend."

Viktor clapped Harry's hand with his own, "Exactly."

The clocktower announced the start of dinner and the three began to walk again.

"Any idea yet what position you will have in the team? Will you be their Seeker? And when will you start training with them?"

"Seeker," concurred Viktor, "but I have no idea about the schedule yet. They vill also help me find a place to stay, somewhere between here and Montrose."

"When are you going to sign the contract? For how long will you sign?" Asked Hermione.

"They vanted me to sign for five seasons, but I bargained to three. I vanted to be flexible after your exam year, but they would not give a contract for one season."

From there on Harry and Viktor continued to talk about Quidditch and what the future would hold for Viktor's career, which came as no surprise to the Muggle-born. She smiled whilst she listened to their voices, to their cadence, not the words they spoke. It was soothing to listen to them. Male voices could have an earthiness to them which a lot of female voices lacked. Those were more the airy kind of voices, which was not unpleasant, just different.

During dinner, she realized that Harry had yet to go to the Weasleys, he had not gone to them like he had said he would. She did not ask why, nor did she try to convince him to go. She was glad to have him here still. Despite the good news Viktor had just shared, she still felt like a frayed bundle of hopelessness and knew that if he had gone to the Weasleys that her worry about him would constantly gnaw at her conscience. She had to tackle these frequent irrational worries with her therapist soon.

As they ate Hermione noted that Minerva had still not returned, at least she was not present at the table. After accompanying the three to the nursery the Headmistress had gone straight to the Ministry. They knew it was partly to relay what Hermione had done for her parents' safety, but that should not take several hours. As she chewed on a piece of chicken she wondered what else kept the Professor there.

That night, both Viktor and Harry slept in the beds next to hers in the nursery.

* * *

Cold metal was clicked around her throat and wrists, restraining her movements. It drained her from the little energy she had, making her stumble behind. Another session of interrogation, she longed for it. The fog in her head which would lift ever so slightly, making her able to think beyond her simple needs such as food, water and peeing.

A cough rattled through her, shook her body. From far away she heard a male voice drily note something about blood. She wondered when they would start using painful tactics in their interrogation. _Weaklings, all of them. I will show them, their games won't break me._

* * *

There was a certain listlessness which had come over her after they had returned from her burned home. Hermione felt like she barely had enough energy to continue with the routine she had created in the last three days; she would wake up early to exercise with Viktor, after which she would patrol the grounds with Hagrid and Harry, followed by a shower and breakfast. From there on she had a free schedule. However, when Harry asked if she wanted to tag along with him, Flitwick, Hagrid and the Auror team to secure Grawp's cafe, she declined. Saying that she wanted to take a look at Neville's birthday presents, while truthfully, she felt too weak. She was certain that she had way too little energy to battle with the will of Bellatrix' wand.

So while she smothered her worries about the group's safety she went to the greenhouse and took care of the plants. Though there was not much to do, she gave them some water and checked if the temperature was right. After which she went to the stadium to try to read and occasionally look up to watch Viktor practice. Unfortunately, it did not work. Besides the worries for Harry and the group, Hermione felt the absence of a certain person. She missed Luna. They had written each other letters, but it was different from being with someone. If only Luna would come back from her trip to her mother's grave.

Harry, Flitwick and Hagrid came back around dinner, looking dishevelled and tired. Hagrid's coat was slightly scorched at some ends and Harry's hair had not been this dishevelled since the Battle. Flitwick, on the other hand, was spotless, not a single drop of mud was on his clothing, nor a single hair was out of place. However, he was the most tired-looking of the three, with a grey-ish white complexion. Hermione offered him a Pepper-Up potion from her shoulder bag, but he declined with a tired smile and a pat on her hand.

"I will go to Madam Pomfrey later," he promised, "not to worry."

"Sir," said she, "what happened?"

"We ran into some trouble," he said with a sigh and began to fill his plate. "At first we made splendid headway, there was no obtrusion on our way there. But once we came closer to Grawp's cave things became more difficult..."

"It was them spiders," Hagrid added gruffly, though there was a crack in his voice, "Aragog's offspring yer see. I had ter try ter dissuade them, I had ter! But they wouldna listen..."

"Vhat happened?" Asked Viktor, indicating Hagrid's coat with a nod of his head, "Acromantula don't spit fire."

"The spiders had made their nest there. It was not as hor-" Harry stopped himself there, glancing at Hagrid before he continued, "as big as the nest I ran into the Second Year. There were not as many spiders, but it was still very... impressive.

"The scorches are from our magic, well from an Auror who had had enough of the escalating argument and started the battle and- well-"

"I tried ter step between them..." Hagrid said and slammed a fist on the table, "They were only hungry! If we had given them some meat-"

"Calm down, Rubeus, I know it's difficult, but it was them or us," said the Professor, doing his best to sound calm and understanding.

Whilst Hagrid and Flitwick tried to make each other see their point of view, Harry leaned forward over the table towards Hermione and Viktor and told more about their experiences, "After the spiders were dealt with we had to get rid of all the webs, it took us hours. That sticky stuff is horrible. But as we worked we found more and more bodies which were webbed. Mostly humans. And from looking at their clothing, we know they are likely to be escaped Snatchers and maybe even Death Eaters. Their bodies have been taken to the Department of Mysteries to be identified and examined. They will be given to the mortuary once that is done.

"The Aurors think that the human escapees had been there first, hiding from the Auror patrols and the Centaurs in the Forest. And that the spiders arrived there later; perhaps ambushed them, or poisoned and webbed them in the middle of the night while they were asleep."

Hermione had difficulty eating the rest of her meal, she was not really afraid of spiders, but hearing how there had still been a group of Acromantula in the forest and which had actually eaten humans made her stomach slightly squeamish.

"So which wards have been put on Grawp's cavern to keep it safe?" She asked in order to divert the subject.

While they ate Harry listed the enchantments and spells they had cast and how they had walked back to Hagrid's cabin to get Grawp and bring him back to his own cave, which he had been thrilled by. He had even been toying with the spider carcasses when the group had started on their way back to the castle, leaving the Giant at his renewed home.

After dinner that evening the Muggle-born went to Minerva's office, hoping to meet her Professor to be able to ask after her visit to the Ministry and to tell her that she believed to have found out Bellatrix' manner of escape. But the gargoyle guarding the stairs to the office informed her that the Headmistress was not present.

The next day, as she was jogging with Viktor, Hermione realized what was causing her listlessness, it was the prospect of the medal ceremony which was due the next day, followed up with the small get-together at the Weasley's. She was nervous, extremely so. She dreaded the long day ahead, the large crowd which would be gathering in the Great Hall, the fact that she would have to receive a medal in front of all those people and cameras.

After the patrol with Harry and Hagrid, she decided to retreat into the library, wanting to be left alone. Here she browsed through the collection, picked out some books she knew she had to memorize for her N.E.W.T.s and began to read them in one of the darkest corners the library had to offer. She read the day away, only halting for a few minutes whenever her eyes felt too tired from focusing for too long. During one of those pauses, she was reminded of her own journal, in which she wrote her daily-doings for the next therapy session. She considered writing a summary of everything she had written, but the whole prospect of having to write and be productive was too much. She was just too tired, too listless.

When she returned to the Nursery in the evening Pomfrey asked her to come into her office, for they had to refresh the salve on Hermione's underarm.

The Muggle-born tried to focus on the lavender-scented water, to enjoy the scent it spread through the air. But the red liquid which was added to the darkening of the water every time Pomfrey squeezed out the sponge within it, only reminded her how little she understood of the curse on her arm.

Poppy seemed to see the change in her patient and said neutrally, "Tell me something about Bulgaria, dear, I've never been there. Is it worth a visit?"

It took her a moment to think about the question, to create an answer inside her head. And though she felt the pricking sensation on her underarm (while knowing that the real pain was still to come), Hermione began to talk about the towns Viktor had taken her to over the years, the nature surrounding his home village and the Quidditch stadium the village had erected after Viktor had made it to the professional league. Talking about Romania helped her refocus her attention. She still felt the pain and gasped for air whenever it truly hurt, but at least she had something to keep her ever so slightly distracted.

* * *

She was brought back to her cell, she knew that but had no idea how they navigated through the endless corridors, let alone which way was north or south. Everything was a blur. Her head throbbed. She felt sick.

Fresh blood and spittle gathered at the corners of her mouth. During the interrogation, she had bitten down on her own tongue to keep from talking. They had forced an unhealthy dose of Veratiserrum upon her. Yet her resolve had not faltered once, nor would it ever do so.

She did not make it to her cell, blackness overtook her vision.

* * *

Aurors had arrived the previous evening, to prepare the Great Hall and to patrol up and down the castle and its grounds. The men and women had been going out and about non-stop, like bees on a sunny day. Some looked tired and were to be released from their duty soon, but most were frowning or had a neutral expression whilst they kept an alert eye on their surroundings. None of them had any idea that Bellatrix was still very much alive, none of these gathered people did. Hermione was certain of it. Momentarily she wondered if Kingsley would ever make the news public, or maybe he would let her be killed and her body burned into real ashes. The Muggle-born felt uneasy at the idea.

Harry sat beside her, talking softly with Ron. Hermione had no interest in listening to their conversation, instead, she observed the inflow of people into the Great Hall. The trio had front row seats, together with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, direct family members and other important people. She wanted to talk with Luna, who had just arrived with her father. But father and daughter were seated a few chairs away and the ceremony was about to begin. They would have to wait.

Viktor came back to sit at her other side, for he had been gone to the toilet. He laid his hand palm upwards on his thigh and wriggled his fingers.

She laid hers in his and entwined their fingers, "Sorry for my sweaty hand."

"It's going to be alright," he assured her, smiling slightly. "You are beautiful."

In the morning Hermione had decided to don her hair in braids, joining them at the back of her head with a black ribbon. Her clothing was less impressive though equally black, she had transfigured Fleur's bloodied sweater into a jacket and wore fancy trousers and shoes which she had bought for occasions like these.

"Thanks," she said, before she added teasingly, "You, on the other hand, look intimidating. Handsome, but intimidating."

Viktor wore his traditional Bulgarian wizarding robes, it accentuated his muscular build but the sharp contours and metal accents made it look more like a battle tunic. He showed a sheepish smile and shrugged, after which he changed the subject, "Have the Veasleys told how ve vill travel to their house to you? Are ve supposed to go on our own or did they create Portkeys for the occasion?"

"Ron mentioned something about a Portkey, yes, but I wasn't listening, to be honest. We won't be with many, so I think one Portkey will suffice. Have you seen-" She wanted to ask if he had seen the new Headmaster of Durmstrang yet, but a shushing in the crowd made silence descend.

Kingsley had stood up, his dark purple robes moved with every step and showed off the details sewn in the fabric. It reminded Hermione of an Art Nouveau art piece. He took to standing behind the owl lectern, straight shouldered and yet he was able to look relatively relaxed as if he was about to talk to a group of dear friends and not a whole nation. The only noise came from the cameras which clicked away, though the flashes which normally accompanied them had been disabled.

"Today, on June the 1st," began the Minister, "we have gathered here at Hogwarts to mourn and give thanks to the many people we have lost during the Battle of Hogwarts on May the 14th." As he spoke he held the tip of his wand against the side of his throat. Not to amplify his voice, as had been done during the Triwizard Tournament, but to broadcast his speech over the wizarding radio, for those who wanted to listen but could not attend the ceremony itself.

"The return of Voldemort was a few years ago, announced during the end of the Triwizard Tournament here at Hogwarts. From there on -"

Without realizing it Hermione already began to lose her focus, memories from those horrible minutes resurfaced. Moments wherein she had been forced to watch as Harry reappeared with a dead body in his arms, as cries had echoed when people started to recognize the body as Cedric Diggory. How she and Ron had tried to force their way to Harry but been unable to reach him. The months of distrust people had shown Harry when he said that Voldemort had returned, the rightful frustration Harry had felt because of this and the unfair lashing out he had done towards her and Ron at times.

Hermione stirred, blinked several times and focussed her thoughts in order to pay attention to Kingsley's speech.

"- the Final Battle in these halls. People, young and old, gave their lives during this battle, were taken from us.

"And let it be clear that people not only from the United Kingdom came to fight for and with us. From Bulgaria and France, they came; humans, Centaurs, House-Elves, a Giant, a werewolf and many more living beings came to our need. We were united, together we fought for one cause. And we won.

"As we all know there were three persons who were essential in the defeat of Voldemort. Please come forward: Harry James Potter, Hermione Jane Granger and Ronald Billius Weasley."

While they stood up and walked onto the podium everyone in the castle seemed to applaud them, it was like an endless thundering. People stood from their seats, giving the trio a standing ovation. But Hermione did not look at the masses. Instead, she focussed her eyes on the front row, where Viktor stood, clapping for her. And Luna who, though slightly overwhelmed with all the people, clapped too, as did Neville and Ginny. The latter who had her arm hooked around George's arm. He looked miserable, but he was here to honour his lost brother and he did so with dignity, his tears falling freely as he too clapped for the trio. And William and Fleur who stood beside them. Charlie, the Delacour family and Molly and Arthur too were close by. The Weasley matriarch was crying silently, letting the tears stream down her cheeks unattended, though her watery smile was filled with warmth. All the while, Arthur had one arm over her shoulders and looked proudly up at them. Minerva, though seated at the other side of the front row among Hogwarts' remaining Professors, was also someone Hermione searched for in the masses.

An assistant followed Kingsley around to get and hold open the boxes from which the Minister took the medals for each to hang around their necks. Thanking them for the services they had done for the country. First Harry, then Hermione and lastly Ronald. When the latter had received his medal, beaming the whole time, the trio was allowed to go back to their seats. The applause finally ceased. But not for long, for other people were invited up the stage to receive their medal. The crowd would applaud, but there came no more standing ovations.

It was strange, all those months hunting for Horcruxes had been so utterly lonesome. Until the radio broadcast of Fred and George, it had felt as if they had been all alone, battling against Voldemort. For the first time, they were able to see just how many people had risked their lives for 'the greater good' in some outstanding way or another. Hermione applauded them all, feeling immensely relieved that her part - no matter how passive it had been - was over and done with.

When all the medals had been received, Kingsley positioned himself behind the lectern once more and continued his speech, "We won. Since then we have been and will continue to celebrate this, but we won not without losing lives. From this day on funerals will be held daily, throughout the whole country. Rest assured that these will be guarded and warded. Today we have also come together to mourn the dead, to give them the honour they deserve. Because they are more than merely people lost to us, they had families and loved ones, they had plans for their futures. And the least we can do is to commemorate them today, to thank them."

For a few seconds, silence stretched after these words, but before long it was broken. For the sound of joined voices singing came from the open doors of the Great Hall. A choir of men and women walked inside, all dressed in the same black robes. Though the choir divided itself into two, one walked around the seated people at the left side of the hall whilst the other mirrored their movements on the right side. The group came together again as they walked up the podium from either side and took to standing behind Kingsley. They sang a few more songs of mourning, of which the last was accompanied by bagpipes.

Hermione looked over the heads of the choir into oblivion, listening absentmindedly to them.

* * *

The get-together was rather small, compared to other Weasley family parties she had attended, for which Hermione was grateful.

For one, Charlie and Hagrid had already gone shortly after the ceremony had ended less than two hours ago. The journey would take them the remainder of the day if not more Their ways of travel being a flight through the air. And if everything would go over smoothly, they would arrive in Romania at midnight. Though Hagrid's motorcycle had not looked like it could take much more riding.

Furthermore, McGonagall and Kingsley had declined the offer, as had Luna and her father, to Hermione's surprise and disappointment. The only other people invited who were not part of the Weasley family were Andromeda, Teddy, Harry, Viktor and herself.

Still, after the whole ceremony, she felt rather drained from the energy needed to be around others. However, she was here, so she made the best of it.

Despite herself, Hermione felt more and more relaxed given time. She used the same old trick, to participate passively simply by listening to the conversations around her, by smiling and nodding at the right times or ask a question concerning whatever the talker deemed interesting and then she could pretend to listen again. Time ticket on like this for most of the evening, until a noise at her left caught her attention.

Harry coughed, whilst stealthily bumping his elbow against her arm. Without giving anything away she turned to him and offered him her glass of water, "Here, take a sip." As she did this she kept a close eye on him, the elbow bump made her alert, she was certain he wanted to tell her something without words.

Still coughing, he took it and brought the glass to his lips, but not before giving her a pointed look which was followed by the slightest indication towards the house. Had she not been looking for a silent message she would have missed it. But she followed his instructions and saw how Fleur had excused herself and was walking towards the house. Hermione's heart sank at the realization of what Harry wanted her to do. No, what he would force her to do if she would not go herself. The Muggle-born excused herself as well, claiming to go refill the can.

She was mindful to keep her shoulders from sagging in defeat. With every step she took, dread seemed to grow heavier inside her. Doubt followed suit. Was she doing the right thing? Did it not seem suspicious to the others at the table? But what was there to be suspicious about anyway? She just wanted to - was forced to - have a heart to heart with Fleur. Under the guise of filling an empty can. But what if Fleur would laugh at her, make fun of her for thinking that they had a friendship in the first place? Maybe she should run away now she still could, Viktor would come with her and she could write Harry a long letter and explain-

With a deep intake of breath, Hermione closed the door behind her. She was already inside the house. A last glance at the table had shown her that everybody was still talking merrily, no one had watched her retreat with suspicion written on their face.

The Muggle-born let go of the door handle and wondered in which bathroom she would find Fleur, but first, she had to fill the water can. To keep up the pretence. She went into the kitchen, which was also exactly where she found the quarter Veela. Hermione could not hide the surprise at finding her culprit here, "err... Hi Fleur." She gave an awkward wave with her empty hand before she closed the kitchen door too.

The woman in question - who stood at the counter, filling her glass with a newly opened wine bottle - looked sideways at her. "Bonjour, 'Ermione," not a single sign of emotion was visible in her features, her voice neutral.

Hermione put the empty can on the table in the middle of the kitchen, to free her hand and nonverbally tell that this encounter was not at all planned. Even though it was, somewhat. And for a second she thought that she would actually just do that, fill the can and go back out. But she could not, that would doom any further attempts at reconciliation.

Fleur kept silent as she regarded the younger woman with a slight frown on her face. By now the bottle was back on the counter and she had turned her body to face Hermione, all the while she sipped her wine as she leaned with her hip against the edge of the table. Fleur's confidence oozed off of her.

 _"I came here to... to fill the water can,"_ Hermione began hesitantly in French, _"but that was just a guise to come and talk to you."_

The quarter Veela raised one eyebrow at hearing this, but nothing else changed in her features. Despite the arrogance that oozed off of Fleur, Hermione had the feeling to be faced with a wall of ice. Emotionless. The woman she had gotten to know in Shell Cottage - warm, kind and funny - seemed in that moment to have gone forever.

Hermione tried again, _"I wanted to- I would really- appreciate if-"_ she winced at her own fumbling for words, _"Do you think we could talk for a bit?"_

A nod came from the lady of ice and, lo and behold, she even put down her wine glass. _"Of course, are we not doing that already?"_

 _"It certainly doesn't feel like a conversation,"_ said the Muggle-born drily, taking the bite from her words by forcing a sheepish smile on her lips.

The frown that appeared on Fleur's face broke through the icy exterior, for which Hermione was thankful, at least now she felt like she was actually connecting with the woman, albeit it being with an annoyed Fleur.

Though as the silence stretched, Hermione wished she could take back her words, apologetically she said, _"I didn't say that to make you angry."_

_"You could have fooled me."_

Hermione took a deep breath, _"Please, Fleur, I am sorry for whatever I did wrong at Shell Cottage. Can't we go back to the friendship we had?"_

This time two eyebrows went up, in an unimpressed manner, _"Stop apologising, I don't want you to."_

 _"Then what do you want?"_ Asked Hermione in an exaggerated way with her hands open, palms up. _"What do I have to do to stop this?"_ And as she said this she indicated the space between them with her hands.

Fleur clucked her tongue, her frown deepened as she followed Hermione's hands with her eyes. Her voice was cold when she asked, "What exactly are you insinuating?"

"This!" Snapped Hermione, momentarily forgetting to speak in French, then she continued in a softer voice, as to not garner the attention from the people in the garden, _"Exactly this. I have only to say 'hello' and you look down your nose at me for uttering the word in your direction. While all I want is to mend the bridge I unwittingly burned."_

Fleur's voice was rising, her annoyance becoming more and more present, _"You paint me like I am the villain, but I have tried multiple times during our stay in the camps to make things right between us."_

Hermione too began to talk louder, _"I know and I am sorry I snapped at you back then but I was having an argument with Harry and suddenly you were behind me and I just-"_

At that moment the kitchen door opened, both women turned their heads at once to look at the intruder. Andromeda walked inside with a squeamish and mewling Teddy in one arm, whilst in the other, she held a fresh diaper and a box of cleaning tissues. Her intentions were clear to anyone. The new arrival looked from one to the other, before she clarified her entry, "Molly told me to go to the kitchen, saying that the bathroom would be too cramped, so I am afraid I will be trespassing on this delightful conversation for a bit." Her sarcasm was not lost to Fleur and Hermione.

Hermione stepped aside to make room for Andromeda and Teddy, quickly grabbing the water can from the table as well, but she did not say a word. Their interruption did little to lessen the tension that had been building up inside the kitchen all this time. She watched silently as the woman summoned a small blanket to spread itself over the table and gently laid her grandson on it. Andromeda hummed softly as she tended to the baby, the scent of his urine and faeces filled the room. The Muggle-born noticed how Teddy reached upward to try and grab some of the loose brown waves which had escaped Andromeda's hairdo. For a split-second, Hermione was reminded of ebony curls, dark eyes filled with hatred and a mad cackle. A shiver travelled down her spine, she blinked and tried to dispel the memories from her mind.

Fleur walked around the table and opened an upper window to enable fresh air to circulate through the kitchen. Also allowing the buzz of the gathering in the garden to reach them. Though she kept out of sight from the people outside, Fleur stayed in the last slivers of sunlight, reaching out her hand and summoning her wineglass into it.

The dirty diaper was thrown in the bin after which Andromeda took her time to gather her happily gurgling grandson in her arms. With a murmur, she banished the other stuff back to her bag in the hallway. Andromeda was at the door with her hand on the handle, not looking at either of the other women, when she spoke up again, her voice sincere and far from patronizing, "It saddens me to think that you two stand here, bickering over Merlin knows what, while you should be happy and merry to still be alive."

The door clicked shut behind the two. Leaving Hermione gripping the water can in a deadly grip and Fleur's frown back in place. That had struck a nerve. They both felt indignation at the condescending words, no matter that Andromeda meant well. They felt belittled. But it really hit them because they both knew it to be true, they knew bloody well that they should be forgiving and merry; they had been spared death, while Tonks and Remus had to die, leaving Teddy and Andromeda behind.

Mrs Tonks' words, though slightly condescending, made a difference. The tension which had filled the room since the beginning, charging their silences, seemed to have been undone. They could breathe more freely now. With a sigh, Hermione took the can, walked towards the sink and filled it with water before she put it back down on the counter. She looked one last time at the door where Andromeda had gone through, then turned her focus back to Fleur.

Fleur did not want any apologies. Hermione looked at her, saddened, she still wanted to mend things. Perhaps she just needed to be humiliatingly honest with the quarter Veela. With a deep sigh and wave of her hand, Hermione undid the charm on her clothing. What appeared was the bloodied sweater from Fleur. In a defeated voice, she said, _"I have been tempting fate, believing you would find me in this at some point, but I guess that... we both just avoided each other too much..."_

For the first time that evening, Hermione saw surprise glimmer in those dark blue eyes. _"I wondered what had happened to it,"_ Fleur mused softly, neglecting her wineglass on the table as she took a step closer. She narrowed her eyes as they went from blood spatter to blood spatter, calculating. _"I thought that perhaps it had gotten lost."_

 _"No,"_ Hermione shook her head, not moving from her place, _"I kept it, making myself believe you would not want a sweater adorned with old blood."_

The quarter Veela looked up from the sweater into brown eyes. Her stare had such gravity to it that Hermione almost looked away, but she held her ground, though she felt a faint heat creep up her neck. Without realizing it herself, Hermione started fidgeting with the seams of the sweater. In a whisper, she repeated her earlier words, "I am sorry, Fleur."

"Non, don't be. Crimson brown doesn't suit my complexion, anyway, no matter if eet was my favourite sweater."

Hermione shook her head again, showing a small, hesitant smile in gratitude for the joke, "That is not what I was apologi-"

"I am aware, 'Ermione," Fleur said gently, interrupting her. She breathed deeply in and out before she continued, "Let's get this behind us, Mrs Tonks was right, we should be celebrating life, not stay bitter because of previous events."

The Muggle-born nodded, her smile becoming more sincere. Not a trace was left of the iciness she had witnessed in Fleur's features at the start of their discussion. Though her bearing had not changed, she stood proud still. However, Hermione reminded herself that Fleur had always been proud, during the Triwizard Tournament and during her stay at Shell Cottage, the difference being that she had accepted this during her stay and had looked past the arrogance. And she would do so again, she would reach for the other woman, to enjoy her humour and wit; to rebuild their friendship. With an earnestness audible in her voice, Hermione said, "Yes, please."

Silence settled once more between them, but this time it was not charged, they merely took a moment to process the acceptance and the willingness to recapture what had been lost. Laughter came from outside through the open window, Hermione could discern William's voice in between the others, he was the one telling the joke. Fleur looked out of the windows into the garden, the late afternoon light played with her silver-blond hair, giving it a fiery glow; almost like the Weasley's hair, though a paler version.

The kitchen door opened once more and Andromeda was - again - the one who walked in on them. By the look of her smile, Hermione suspected the older woman had come to check on them and was satisfied at what she saw. "So sorry," she said lightly, smiling kindly at the two young women. Then Andromeda reached into her dress pocket, took out Teddy's milk bottle and said drily, "Forgot his bottle on the kitchen table."

Hermione, who decided to play along with the lie, said, "Right, we were about to bring it to you."

"Oui," said Fleur whilst she took her glass and the wine bottle in her hands, "and let's not forget the reasons we came here for."

The three of them rejoined the gathering in the garden, all the while they conversed about Teddy's night routine of sleeping, waking up, crying and going back to sleep.

Fleur and Hermione did not talk for the rest of the evening. Though they had made up, there was a certain distance they could not cross in one night and that was okay. It was all a bit too raw. At least they no longer ignored each other. Whenever their eyes met they would smile or nod, acknowledging each other.

When the party broke up and everyone said their goodbyes, Fleur reached out to grasp Hermione's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, causing Hermione to smile warmly at her.

Tonight they had made the first step at reconciling, perhaps even two. The Muggle-born felt lighter as she walked over Hogwarts' grounds with Harry and Viktor like there was one less weight pressing down on her shoulders.


	17. A willing Replacement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: hints of - but not actually described - heterosexual intercourse.

They had decided to take a last stroll over the beach before turning in for the night, their arms linked. And for a while, they walked in silence.

"So, things worked out after all?" He asked all of a sudden.

Fleur looked at her husband with a questioning gaze but said nothing.

William elaborated, "You two seemed to be on friendly terms again. Hermione is no longer angry that you want to publish it, your journal on Curses and their effect?"

"Ah, non," Fleur picked up her lie effortlessly, "She 'as agreed eet ees for a good cause, as long as I don't mention 'er personally. She ees not yet ready to share the curse on 'er underarm with the rest of the world."

"Understandable," He nodded with a frown. Then he muttered more to himself than her, "Hadn't that been clear already then...?"

She watched him, his expression and words worried her though she made sure she did not show it, "What ees eet, mon loup?"

"Well, it's nothing, just..." He hesitated, but continued nonetheless, "When they were staying at ours and you took care of Hermione, while she was bedridden you had your fireflies conjured... And I was wondering why? I always thought you only shared them with people you... you really care for. Gabrielle, me..."

The absurdity of his question and her own relief made her laugh out loud, though she stopped herself quickly because William looked both ashamed and hurt. His frown deepened.

"Sorry, Bill, I didn't mean to laugh at you. The fireflies were to calm me down. Een the first few 'ours, she would awaken and rave, talk inaudibly, eet scared me a little. Later she wouldn't awaken, instead, she would make these suffocating noises and sweat profusely... Needles to say, I kept my fireflies conjured."

William scratched his neck in embarrassment, his blush reached his ears, "Right, wow, I had no idea, I thought that you had built a friendship with Hermione during the Triwizard Tournament, or something."

"Pfft," Fleur waved away the idea, "no, we couldn't be bothered back then. We were on opposing teams and there ees the age difference, I suppose."

"Taking care of someone can really change a lot, huh?" Said he with a half-shrug.

The quarter Veela gazed out over the ocean, the cloudlessness of the day had made way for the moon which shone brightly over the landscape. Waves crashed and splashed. It was like a dark, angry animal. It's waves foamed dangerously like froth on one's mouth. At that moment, it all felt so different from the beaches in France, though she knew rationally that the ocean there could look just as unforgiving as here. Fleur suddenly felt homesick, to a time when she had not been someone's wife. She dispelled the thought. "Oui," she answered at last, "that 'appens when you see someone at their most vulnerable. At least, een this case eet did." Though what she really thought was, _And we just have a click._

* * *

Hermione followed Harry and Viktor to the Hufflepuff dormitory, for she would not be sleeping in the Nursery for a few nights. Pomfrey had gone to stay with her family, partially to attend some of the funerals in the upcoming days. Just before the start of the ceremony that morning, the matron had given her several bottles of the sleeping draught and a time table for when to take the drink, as to keep to their regulation scheme. The Muggle-born was thankful for all the help Pomfrey had given her so far and had memorized the times, now all she had to do was actually keep to the hours she had been given by the matron.

Thinking about the schedule and the potion made her realize that, even though she took the draught every night since she started sleeping in the nursery, she had yet to feel drowsy through the day. She would not be surprised if Pomfrey had done something to it. Perhaps diluted the draught enough to minimize its effects on a person? Or had her body gotten addicted to the stuff and would she experience side effects the moment she stopped taking the potion? Rationally she knew that addiction, in this case, was not yet a possibility, but she felt slightly uncomfortable at the idea nonetheless.

"So," began Harry, "you and Fleur made up?"

"Yes, we did," she said softly, "though mostly thanks to Andromeda's interference, honestly."

He looked in surprise over his shoulder at her, "She did? When?"

"We were arguing in the kitchen when she came inside with Teddy, to change his diaper. Needless to say, it was very awkward. And when she went she kind of admonished us for our behaviour... She meant well and it helped, but it struck a nerve."

"Er... Um... It's good your short-lived blood feud got resolved," said Harry sheepishly, "right?"

Viktor snorted at the joke but said nothing. Hermione smiled and playfully hit her lover's arm, which made him grin all the more. Then she turned her attention back to Harry, "What is it that you are not saying?"

"Well, I took the opportunity to talk with her about Teddy and told her that, you know, I want to take my godfather duties seriously," Harry said and continued whilst they walked through the entrance of the dormitory, "And... Well... She invited us for lunch tomorrow."

"Ah," was all Hermione said, not really feeling like she wanted to make small talk that soon with the woman who had - albeit rightfully so - admonished her just a few hours ago.

Harry sat down in one of the chairs, nearest to the fire, "It will be fine, Hermione. I am there, she would not dare to talk all reasonably to you while the boy who defeated Voldemort was in the same room."

"Such modesty," she said drily and took to sit in the chair between Harry and Viktor's. "How late are we expected?"

Harry rummaged in the pouch around his neck, "Around eleven."

She nodded, watching as he pulled something out of his pouch. In his hand, he held the cord of the medal he had received that morning. The front of the gold medal was engraved with the Ministry's sign, the capital M with the wand in the middle. He studied its details - the rims, the hand-engraved letters - in the light of the fire. Turning it this way and that, the different faces of the object gleamed in the flickering light.

All the medals were the same, the difference being the backs, where the initials and surnames had been engraved of the one receiving the honorous object. Hermione had put hers in her bag, she had no idea what to do with it.

"Do you reckon we could enchant this like our Dumbledore's Army coins?" Harry asked.

Viktor smiled, he knew from stories what Harry meant, and said, "Not likely, but ve should certainly try."

"What did you think about the ceremony?" She looked from Harry to Viktor, to indicate that she asked both of them.

"It vas nice that Kingsley mentioned my country's support," Viktor said, "I appreciated the gesture. Even though there vere little of my countrymen to hear his speech."

"There has to be a formal ceremony that is being prepared," Harry said, whilst he put the medal in his pocket. "Perhaps the newspapers tomorrow will have something to say about it."

To which Hermione added, "This gathering at Hogwarts was to announce the start of the funerals and, more importantly, to make a public gesture. To ensure that the whole of wizarding Brittain notices that changes in the protocol of the Ministry are happening. Kingsley is playing a strategic game."

"As is a custom in politics," said Viktor drily.

The three were quiet for some time, having had a long day of listening and talking there was tiredness which hung around them like clouds heavy with rain.

Harry sighed deeply and rubbed his face, "Hermione, do you have a sleeping draught I could take? I just want to sleep, without any bloody nightmares."

"Sure." She gave him one of Poppy's brews - not minding the idea of pulling an allnighter, she could take up Pomfrey's time table the following day again - and wished him a good night. Harry left the two with a wave before he closed the door behind him.

Hermione turned in her seat, to look more easily at Viktor and asked him in Bulgarian, _"Harry is not sleeping well, is he?"_

 _"No,"_ concurred Viktor, _"He wakes up often, yelling or crying."_

_"Why won't he ask for help? I don't get it. He hasn't even taken the first step to contact the therapist he has chosen. And there is Pomfrey who helps me too..."_

Her lover shrugged, stood up from his chair to sit on one of her chair's armrests and said, _"Give it time, give him time. There has happened much and people mourn and process differently."_

She breathed in, then said, _"I know."_ Then she reached upwards to caress Viktor's cheek, _"I know... You are right."_

He took her hand gently in his and guided it to his lips to press a kiss on her knuckles. Butterflies stirred inside her, his stubble scratched her skin lightly. Then he looked her in the eyes and asked earnestly, _"Would you like to stay with me tonight?"_

She smiled as she looked at him, warmth spread from her chest to the rest of her body. Slowly she leaned forward with her head tilted upwards whilst he leaned downwards, to kiss each other.

They waited a few minutes before they made their way to another part of the dormitory, one for the older male students. Despite the fact that no one else slept in this room, they still put up a silencing charm over their bed and drew the curtains shut.

* * *

The sound of their quick breaths filled the shadows. As Viktor lowered himself beside her, Hermione huddled close to him. Seeking out his warm and sweaty body, to press herself against. He laid one arm loosely around her waist, caressing the small of her back with his fingertips. All the while his eyes were closed, though he was obviously still awake. And she could not help but start a conversation, too awake to silently bask in the afterglow.

_"How are your parents? You are going to them tomorrow, right?"_

Without opening his eyes, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead and said, _"Yes, I will take the train to London, there should be a Portkey ready for me at the owlery there."_

_"Why not travel to Bulgaria from here?"_

_"Because I wanted to buy some presents."_

_"Hm, right."_

_"And they are fine, I just need to get some documents before I can sign the contract with the Magpies."_

_"Right,"_ she repeated. _"Don't forget to give them my love, hug them tight. Any idea when you will be back?"_

_"I will stay for a few days, there are also a few things I have to do for McGonagall. She wants me to deliver a package to the Headmaster of Durmstrang."_

_"Hm,"_ she hummed. In their silence, Hermione observed her lover. From experience she knew he was going to fall asleep soon, the ease with which he could fall asleep was still astounding to her. Viktor's breath was slowing down already.

Yet he shared one last thing before he slipped into unconsciousness, _"I will write you the date once I know when I return."_

She nodded and then said softly, "okay."

His hair had been in a tiny bun during their lovemaking and strands had gotten out, of which a few fell over his face. It made him look all the more gentle in her opinion. He continued to let his hair grow longer, something she really liked. It made him look less like a military man. Now, when he frowned, he would not look as grumpy as when he had buzzed hair.

When she decided he was soundly asleep she moved away from her lover, for she wanted to keep herself busy through the night. From her bag, she pulled books and a candle, of which she lighted the latter with a murmured spell. Now she could undo her partial transformation. At once her surroundings grew dark now that she no longer used her Animagus' eyes to see, only the dancing flame of her candle lighting the shadows.

* * *

Hermione held her half-eaten toast in one hand whilst she held the newly arrived Prophet in the other, it's front-page article was unsurprisingly about the ceremony from the day before. A photo of Harry was most prominent on the page; he looked calmly and almost apathetically at the crowd behind the camera, blinking now and then, whilst the medal was constantly adjusted around his neck by Kingsley's hands. In a smaller photo on the downside of the frontpage, the three of them were visible, Ron was the only one who looked like he was proud to stand there.

After reading the front-page article she put the Prophet to the side with a frown on her face. She took a bite of her toast and chewed, whilst she mulled over what she had just read. From reading the article, she got the sense that she had missed a lot more from the ceremony than she had previously believed. She knew that parts of Kinglsey's speech had fallen on deaf ears, but there were whole parts in the article she had not recognized. Far more than she had previously thought she had actually missed out on. Still, she had gotten enough from the message Kingsley had wanted to relay to the whole of the wizarding nation.

Another bite and more chewing. Hermione looked over at the other few students at the table, the number was growing smaller with each day, it seemed. Only seven others were still staying at the castle. And it was the same with the Professors; only McGonagall, Flitwick and Pomona (and the occasional Auror, to ensure the safety of those left behind) remained since the ceremony the day before.

She wondered how Grawp was doing in his cave and if Hagrid was having a good time. Would Norberta still recognize him? She also realized that she had not heard anything about the Ukrain Ironbelly from Charlie, did that mean that the dragon was still roaming the world? Had it gotten lost in some uninhabited part of the world? Or had Gringotts somehow managed to track the dragon down?

Harry sat down beside her with a sleepy 'good morning', took his wand and tapped some of the bowls on the table, for he was too lazy to fill his plate with his own hands. He watched as the can with orange juice hoovered above his cup to fill it. Then he reached out to take his cup and take the first sip of his drink.

"You slept for a long time," she noted out loud.

He nodded, took another sip.

"Are you nervous?"

"Not really," he said, "just... You know... It's weird. I am barely an adult and already a godfather."

Hermione nodded, laid her hand on his leg and squeezed his knee, "Teddy will love you all the same."

Harry looked her in the eyes for the first time that morning, his exhaustion was clearly visible despite the many hours of rest she knew he had had. Yet, his tired smile was warm, "Thanks, love."

* * *

The Tonks residence was a beautiful country house, it was a bit small in width but it had three floors to make up for it. And it was clearly well taken care of, it looked like it was freshly painted and the garden was in bloom. It reminded Hermione of grandmas baking cookies and of happy families. She felt unease settle inside her at the mere idea; unease and a sickening feeling. Despite knowing that Andromeda's life was far from perfect, if not the opposite of it, the symbolic perfection of the house was enough to upset Hermione. Which she despised herself for. She did her best to hide her internal struggles behind a fake smile.

Harry used the door knocker to announce their presence. A voice called from upstairs, though they had to wait for some time before the front door opened. Andromeda smiled at them with Teddy in her arms, who watched them curiously. Only his face was visible, for he was wrapped in a light-blue blanket.

"Welcome, good to see you two again," she said and stepped aside to let them in, "Sorry to leave you waiting, Teddy has been a bit difficult lately."

Harry thanked her for inviting them and asked after the baby. Hermione quietly followed the two inside, doing her best to ignore her own nerves as she closed the door behind her. It did not help that Hermione noticed that when walking in the shadows Andromeda's hair looked darker and now that she had her hair down - instead of in a hairdo - she looked all the more like her older sister. Her unease prickled over her skin.

The Muggle-born steeled herself as she undid her coat and hung it in the hall before she followed the gurgling noises of Teddy into the living room, Harry was ahead of her. The house's interior was simple and not at all what Harry and Hermione had come to expect from non-Muggle families. There was not a single flying object, nor any enchanted teapots. Even the photos were just photos, no moving portraits or anything of the like.

"Want to hold him while I get our tea?" The older woman asked Harry and when she saw his nervous expression she added, "He can't so much as wriggle out of your arms, I swaddled him tightly."

Carefully Harry took the baby from her. Hermione watched the exchange with a smile from the safety of a corner on the couch, she patted the place beside her. And when Harry sat down she bent over Teddy to get a closer look at him.

"Is he a beautiful baby?" Asked Hermione in a whisper.

He shrugged, the movement lifting Teddy up and down again, and whispered back, "I have no idea, babies all look the same to me."

"Harry, he has blue hair," she deadpanned.

"Except for his hair," he said and rolled his eyes.

"Do you want any milk in your tea?" Came from the kitchen.

"A splash, please, Mrs Tonks," Hermione said.

"Call me Andy."

"Sorry, Andy, a splash of milk, please," the Muggle-born quickly corrected herself.

"No milk for me, thanks," added Harry. Then he turned his face to his companion and whispered, "Let's just pretend to see that Teddy has a nice face."

When Andromeda returned with their tea and a plate with biscuits the duo was engrossed in making Teddy smile and giggle. She put everything on the coffee table between them and sat down in a chair opposite of them, watching in silence at them. A smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"You said he has been a bit difficult lately?" Hermione asked and turned to look at Andromeda after she had made a last weird face at Teddy, which made him gurgle still.

Mrs Tonks nodded, "Nothing I can't handle, he interrupts my sleep less and less. It's just that he needs a lot of attention and has a constant desire to reach out and grab at everything. And when I have had enough of it, I wrap him up like this, a little present. Though it's a good thing you two are here, he does not seem to be bothered by the blanket now that he can focus on you two."

Harry smiled at hearing that, "Glad to be of help." Though as he said this the bundle in his arms started to wriggle and at the realisation that he was swaddled as tightly as he was Teddy began to mew in disagreement. With a heavy sigh, Andromeda reached out her hands. Harry stood up to put Teddy in them, nervousness once more clear in his features. Then he said, "That did not last long, can I help? Get him anything?"

"Yes, can you get his bottle from the kitchen, please? I forgot about it."

Hermione felt slightly queazy to be left alone with Andromeda but mentally shushed her nerves. Though there were many subjects that she felt not comfortable to breach, there were still just as many she knew would not do any harm to ask. She reached for her cup of tea to hold it in her hands, "How has Teddy been? Has he grown much during the last few months?"

Andromeda smiled, "Oh, yes, this little one will be big in no time. I go to the second-hand store every few weeks to get him new clothes, he outgrows them so fast. I think I will just buy clothes that are too big for him so that he can grow into them."

Harry handed her Teddy's bottle and sat back down on the couch whilst he asked, "So, when can I start teaching him how to fly?"

The question, being asked so out of the blue, made Andromeda laugh out loud. And to her relief, Hermione heard it was as far from a mad cackle as could be.

When she was done laughing she offered the teat of the bottle to Teddy, his disagreeing noises ceased at once. Mrs Tonks finally answered with a twinkle in her eyes, "Not anytime soon, Harry. First, he has to be able to walk before I will allow him to learn anything related to brooms."

"Really?" Harry sounded unsure whether to believe her or not, "Actually, where are those toy brooms sold? I have never seen them in the broomstore in Diagon Alley."

"They are usually made on order," explained Andromeda and added teasingly, "there are far too few people who value their children's ability to fly above their safety for the store to have them on display."

Harry nodded with a sheepish smile, though there was determination visible in his expression when he said, "I will figure something out, I have got time to think of and take care of safety measures. Hermione will help me."

She did not miss a beat, "Hah, no."

Andromeda looked at the duo, she clearly enjoyed the conversation and was about to add something to it when a tapping against a window came from somewhere in the house, interrupting them. She frowned in confusion as she looked into the direction it had come from. With an apology, she made her way to the kitchen. Harry and Hermione could hear her open the window and a moment later the sound of noisy wingbeats filled the livingroom. A pigeon landed before Hermione on the coffee table next to her cup's saucer and, with its head tilted to the side, it stared up at her expectantly with one eye.

The Muggle-born put down her tea and reached out to untie the small, rolled-up parchment from the bird's outstretched paw. Meanwhile, Andromeda asked Harry if he would like more tea and he nodded, thanking her. Meanwhile, the pigeon had found the biscuits and was picking one apart.

"It's from Ollivander," Hermione said softly and looked up from the letter to Harry, surprise and wonder clear on her face.

"Well, what does the letter say?" He asked with an incredulous smile, "Is it ready?"

She nodded, "He says that I can come immediately if I wish to."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Hermione looked at Harry for a moment longer and then at Andromeda, whilst she stood up hesitantly. The fact that Ollivander already had a wand ready was quite a surprise. She had thought it would take months for the wandmaker to be ready and here she stood with a letter in hand that said a new wand was awaiting her, it had only been five days since she had last visited Ollivander's shop.

"Thanks so much for having me," Hermione began, "but I have to go, this is very important to me."

"Of course, Hermione," the older woman said kindly, her smile warm. "You are always welcome here."

She smiled and nodded, then turned her attention back to Harry and asked, "See you at the castle?"

"Actually, I wanted to visit the Weasleys, stay there for a bit, help them and see how they are doing."

"That's alright," Hermione said and bent down to plant a kiss on his cheek, "then I will be at Luna's. See you soon."

The Muggle-born made it clear that Andromeda did not have to see her to the door and said goodbye to Teddy - who was still occupied with his meal - with a gentle caress over his forehead before she turned around and made her way. Andromeda and Harry listened to Hermione's hasty footsteps, the rustle of her clothes and the slam of the door. A muffled 'sorry, did not mean to pull so hard' came from outside and then they heard her footsteps disappear as she walked to the edge of the property to Disapparate.

Harry turned his attention back to the grandmother of his godson, "Sorry about that, she... her wand got lost and destroyed during the war and she has been struggling with finding a new one."

"I understand," Andromeda nodded slightly, looking down at the baby in her arm and caressed his blue hair with her fingertips. "And it doesn't help that I look so much like my older sister either."

Harry was slightly taken aback at the forwardness of that comment but said nothing, he did not know what to say.

She gazed at him again with a sad smile on her lips, the few wrinkles that adorned her face accentuated the regret she felt for the likeness. A moment passed, before she explained herself, "I have seen those fearful glances before, Harry. I know how I look with my hair down, I have heard it all my life. Had I known about Hermione's unfortunate past experiences with Bellatrix I would have done one hairdo or another."

He nodded, suddenly feeling like an open book to the woman's eyes, even though he had not been the one subjected to her observations. At least, not that he had been aware of.

Andromeda sighed and smiled kindly at him through the sadness, "So, how have you been, Harry?"

* * *

To keep from attracting unwanted attention to herself, Hermione did her best to walk at a normal pace through the streets in the direction of Ollivander's shop. Though she wanted nothing more than to run to the wandstore. However, now that she walked slowly to her destination, she had the opportunity to observe her surroundings in daylight. She was glad to see that there was more of a bustle since the last time she had been here during the daytime. It was far from the crowdedness it used to be before the Second Wizarding War, but at least there were some people strolling about. And the street and houses no longer had that dark, forlorn look about them. No more broken windows and no empty buildings.

A few people who noticed her smiled and waved, some even pointed her out to their friends, but for the most part Hermione was left alone. She was, after all, not ' the boy who lived twice and defeated Voldemort'. She nodded at a few people, but mostly kept to herself, pretending not to see other people and looked into the shop windows feigning interest. In an attempt to create the impression that there was no specific reason for her to be here.

It felt like hours had passed before she heard the bell of Ollivander's door ring to announce her arrival. There were already two people in the shop, thus Hermione decided to wait patiently beside the single plant in the shop. She watched as Ollivander helped the plump mother and her daughter, all three were smiling brightly as the girl was twirling the wand in her hand through the air; a pleasant, gentle gust of wind came out of its tip and transformed into long, dancing ribbons of all kinds of colour.

"That's it, darling," the mother said proudly, "It's a match, isn't it, Garrick?"

"A perfect one," he concurred with a smile and started to get the wand's box ready. Whilst the mother took her coin pouch in her hand, smiling at her daughter with affection visible in her eyes.

As she watched it all unfold before her, Hermione was struck by how simple it appeared to be for the young girl. Just a simple swish and it was a match, a perfect match at that. Though she told herself that she had not been here from the start and thus had no idea how many wands the girl had tried. The display of motherly affection Hermione ignored altogether, too pained by the fact that her own mother was far away and would not even recognize her. It was among the reasons why she had not accompanied Viktor to his parents, though she knew she had to go to them at some point. Yet another aspect of her life she should talk with her therapist about. The Muggle-born sighed softly, trying to let go of the building frustration she felt towards herself. She turned her head to glare through one of the windows at the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley.

The fact that she was here to replace the wand strapped on her right underarm made her all the more aware of the crooked thing. She had forgotten how it felt to have her own wand strapped there. Was there a difference? Bellatrix's wand only acted up when she held it in her hands. But was it not that her wand had effortlessly been with her, that she had carried it without feeling a thing? Bellatrix's wand revolted her and it did not take Hermione much to grow aware of the thing strapped against her flesh.

The jingle of the doorbell rang again, breaking her from her thoughts. Ollivander had seen his two customers to the door and was currently tapping the open sign on his door window so that it turned on its own and showed 'closed' instead. The sound of a lock falling into place followed and the magical presence of a ward, or several wards, activated.

"Don't be discouraged by what you just saw, sweet girl," said Ollivander when he walked past her towards and through the tight corridor, "it has always been easier for children to find their wands than it is for adults. Especially when said adult has had their fair share of awful experiences."

With her interest piqued at once, Hermione asked while she followed the old wandmaker, "And what if the child has had a difficult youth?"

"Oh, yes, those can be hard to find wands for as well. Unsurprisingly, Mr Potter was among those cases, though at the same time he wasn't. But you have to realize, most magical children are not Muggle-born, therefore we wandmakers know of their birth and can calculate through the years what would be most suitable to those children, since we know what kind of wands their parents have."

"How do you keep track of every child that has been born to magical parents? Are you allowed in the Ministry's registers? And how do you know which child will come to your shop and not go to another? Do you make calculations based on the children being born every year?"

"Hah," came Ollivander's laugh, "No, that sounds like it would take far too much time, I would not be able to sell anything if that were the case. It's very simple, Miss Granger, parents or guardians send the wandmaker they want to support a birth announcement, to make them aware of the child. But enough about those matters, I have summoned you for something so much more exciting!"

Hermione smiled at hearing Ollivander's words, all the while he ushered her to stand not at the workbench like last time, but closer to the bookcases, out of sight from the curious people on the street who could glance at and through the windows. Then he disappeared into the corner where her eyes could not follow him due to the disillusion enchantments she now knew to be placed there.

He returned to her side holding a simple wooden box and opened it to proffer her what was inside, "Since I made this wand for your hand to hold, I am certain that this too, is a match that can be considered as perfect."

Despite his reassuring words, there was a moment that a tremor settled in her fingers as she reached out to touch the wood, but soon she had enough control over her body to have a steady hand. Without being aware of it herself, she held her breath as she grasped the handle of the wand and held it before her. She did not yet dare cast any magic, what if they would not be a match? What if Ollivander was wrong and she was not compatible with any sort of wand anymore? What if Bellatrix's wand had - or the Death Eater herself - wrecked her mental stability too much?

A gentle slap on her upper arm from the wandmaker made her look away from the dark grains in the wood. She met silvery eyes, gentle yet sharp.

"Don't make me wait so long," he said in a miffed manner, though not unkindly, "I worked hard to see this union happen."

She gave the slightest nod in apology before she turned her eyes back on the wood. Ordinary wands felt light in one's hand and in a way this one was no exception. Yet there was a heaviness to it, not like the heavy dislike Bellatrix's wand carried in regards to her. It felt as if the wand held a certain expectancy, like she had to prove something.

Ollivander did not slap her this time when he whispered gently, "Show her your inner belief, free your raw magic. You don't need my guidance, Miss Granger, you are not the lunatic you believe yourself to have become."

For a few seconds, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, branding those words into her mind. _I am not a lunatic._ And as she exhaled, she not only opened her eyes, she flicked her wrist and made her energy flow through her body to the tips of her fingers and into the wood she held in her hand.

At first, it seemed like nothing had changed, the dread that had gnawed at her conscious enclosed itself around her throat. But then...

"Splendid," Ollivander breathed in awe as he watched how dustmotes had gathered from the shadows and danced into the sunlight that fell inside through the windows, becoming one and forming itself into a fox as it ran, twirled and tumbled through the air. And from a fox, the bundle of dust transformed into a raven; up it flew in the direction of the sunlight, joyously and carefree. Until it flew against the window. The dustmotes exploded in every direction, sparkling as the fell back towards the ground.

Hermione felt the dread lessen its grip around her throat as the realization dawned on her that she had found her match; that the handle she gripped was of her very own wand. The heaviness from before was gone, her wand had become featherlight in her grip. She was speechless as she turned her gaze back to the old wandmaker.

"Better than perfect," he whispered as his eyes met hers, slowly a beaming grin lighted up his wrinkled face, exposing all the teeth he had lost. "Let's celebrate with a cup of tea."

In the shadows of his private quarters, they sat near the windows as they nursed their teacups. Hermione's new wand was back in its box on the side table between them, of which the cover lay discarded on the workbench. Ollivander took a sip from his tea, while he regarded her. Without needing to be asked he said, "Its wood is Black Walnut, with a Dragon heartstring core, it's 12 1/4 inches long and inflexible."

As Hermione listened to his words her eyes went to her new wand again, she wanted to try out the casting of so many spells, but she had to wait. Without thinking twice she put down her cup and rolled up the right sleeve of Fleur's sweater, it revealed the holster with Bellatrix's wand strapped in it. She undid the ties and carefully laid down the holster and wand beside the open box.

She was glad to notice the stark difference between the two wands. One was curved, grey-ish black with no clear grains and with gnarls adorning the wood. While the other was fairly straight, ocher brown with dark grains and with no obvious handle, just like the wand she had bought when eleven years old.

At last, she opened her mouth to speak, "From a Vinewood wand of 10 3/4 inches to Black Walnut of 12 1/4. That is a difference."

"It is," Ollivander nodded once, looking at her with calculating eyes.

"How can there have changed so much inside me during the war, is this all because of the trauma's I have experienced?" She asked, sounding lost even to her own ears, "Is there anything about it that you may share with me, Mr Ollivander?"

He looked at her and, for a while, she looked back at him. Ollivander saw the sadness in her eyes and knew that he mirrored the emotion, then she cast down her eyes, hiding her feelings. Still, he observed her, while in his mind he arranged the things he could share with the young woman.

"You remind me so much of my own daughter, Miss Granger," he sighed after he had drunk the last of his tea and put down the mug on the table. Ollivander stared out of the window whilst he fiddled with the seems on his armrests as he continued, "She died during the First Wizarding War. She was a brave and kind woman, took after her mother. Her dead broke me. For years I rarely used magic, my own wand lay forgotten in the bedroom. And when I slowly started to use it once more, my signature magic had changed. Extreme experiences change a person. And besides, magical energy is ever-changing, it is not strange that an adult needs a different wand than they needed when they were just eleven years old.

"Of course, this does not mean that a witch or wizard can outgrow their wands; a bond between the wand and wielder once made will never break unless one of them gets broken one way or another, for a wand will adapt to their wielder and grow with them."

Hermione tucked one leg underneath her and leaned against the left armrest of her chair as she listened to Ollivander, whilst she continued to study both wands. It felt weird not to have her holster strapped on her underarm, she had it on her person for so long - never taking it off - and now it laid there like it no longer belonged to her. Though the wand that was held within it had never truly been hers.

The wandmaker turned his eyes back to his guest, entwined his fingers to keep from fiddling and continued, "Though there are wands who are easier to readjust to new wielders. Which has to do with its flexibility. Or, in this case, the lack thereof. Your wand is inflexible, I doubt it will work for anyone but you. Especially since I made it specifically for you. That is generally what happens, you see, when a person makes something magical for another, the object - or rather the magical energy - always has an affinity for the person it is made for. Wands are no difference and-"

Ollivander stopped himself and shook his head with a sneer at his own functioning, "Sorry, I am derailing, it's hasn't been as bad as during our conversation in Shell Cottage, but I cannot seem to shake the habit since... my abduction."

The Muggle-born tore her eyes away from the wands to look into the eyes of the old man opposite her. She understood the pain and frustration she saw in his expression, knew he meant the torture which followed his abduction, but there was suddenly a lump in her throat and she was unable to form any comforting words. She did not look away from him this time though, she wanted him to see that she did not mind his digressing.

A few moments of silence, then a sad little smile came on his lips before he continued, "Another difference between this and your first wand is their lengths, as this one is longer. Which has to do with the fact that you have grown from a quiet bookish girl into a woman who has an opinion she fights for."

Hermione frowned, cleared her throat and found her voice to ask, "So, a wand's length has to do with someone's believes, their morale? And if the wielder is willing to come forth and say it?"

"Yes, in a way... I suppose... But no," he shook his head again, "it's about someone's personality. The more pronounced someone is in their way of being, the longer their wand tends to be. Some wandmakers believe the length of a wand has solely something to do with the height of the wielder, but that is just a crude measurement."

"I don't understand," she said, "I know that I have grown as a person, everyone does through their teenage years with our without a war, but I am still that same bookish girl I was when eleven years old. Maybe, in a way, even more so."

Ollivander nodded, "Oh, I have no doubts about that. But the thing is, when you enter a room, people notice you. Not only because you were essential to Mr Potter's victory, but because you have fought your worst fear and _survived_. You may not have defeated her, but you survived, even made her wand listen to you. And _that_ is a powerful knowledge no one can take from you.

"Which is also why Vinewood is no longer suitable for you, our previous tries made that obvious. You need a wood that can challenge you. And once challenged and matched, there is room for loyalty, from both wand and wielder." Ollivander's sadness had slowly ebbed away during their conversation and, as he repeated his earlier words, he could once more beam at the woman opposite him, "A perfect union, indeed."

"But if you made the wand for me, how did you go about it? Are there certain calculations you have to do? What made you think of Black Walnut, why not just Walnut, like this one?" She gestured a bit exasperated at Bellatrix's wand and continued to ask her questions, "Do you have the ingredients lying around or do you have to venture into magical forests?"

"You are so stubborn, you know I cannot answer your questions and yet you keep asking them. I have already told you far too much," Ollivander shook his head and shifted in his seat, his expression a mingling of disbelieve and a smile. "Let's just say that a wandmaker is supposed to have great intuition and learns how to act on it."

Hermione sighed and looked a bit forlorn at Ollivander's answer, "But can you at least tell me the difference between a Walnut and a Black Walnut? _Her_ maiden name is Black, it's almost like a nod towards my torture. Mr Ollivander, please tell me what the differences are so that I can put my mind at ease."

"We already spoke about the abilities a Walnut wand seeks for in their wielders at Shell Cottage, skill and intelligence. And Black Walnut is just as demanding, but there are certain differences. One is that the Black Walnut is known to be unpredictable." He reached out to pick up the holster with Bellatrix's wand in it and started to undo the straps around the wand, while he elaborated, "Once a Walnut has found its wielder, who has to have a certain brilliance for the union to happen, the wand will perform any and all magic the wielder will want to conjure. Walnut wands become lethal weapons in the wrong hands, given that the wielder has this desire for dangerous and dark magic. Which we both know Mrs Lestrange has."

The Muggle-born frowned at hearing Ollivander use present tense, she had not told him anything about Bellatrix's survival.

Ollivander's expression darkened slightly, "Oh, I know she is not dead. This wand of hers will die out the moment she breathes her last breath... Walnut wands and their original wandholders bond with each other in a particularly unhealthy manner. You may have found a way to work with Lestrange's wand, but it never accepted you." He took Hermione's new wand from the box and put Bellatrix's inside it, then he began to strap the new wand in the holster.

"But then how is it even _working_ for me? I shouldn't be-" Hermione started, but the wandmaker held one hand up to silence her.

"I cannot share that with you. However, to get back on the topic, Walnut is prone to seek a wielder with exceptional power whereas Black Walnut always seeks out good instincts and insight, and, perhaps even more importantly, a sincere and self-aware owner. You, sweet girl, have all four personality traits in you."

Hermione was quiet, she did not feel assured with so many similarities between the two wands. And the wandmaker knew what she was thinking, "Walnut and Black Walnut have more in common than you would like, Miss Granger, I know. But the things that really matter are truly different."

She was still not wholly convinced, but she nodded nonetheless and did her best to smile appreciatively, "Thank you, Mr Ollivander, for everything." And she meant it, it came from the deepest parts within her. No matter the peculiar likelinesses of the two wands, she would forever be grateful to the wandmaker.

He smiled back at her, "Come, let's go back to my store, I need to get back to work."

She paid for her wand as she strapped her holster on her arm, it felt good to feel it's familiar leather on her skin once more. Bellatrix's wand was in the closed box and in the deepest recesses of her shoulder bag.

"What are you planning to do with Mrs Lestrange wand, Miss Granger?" Ollivander asked as he walked her to the front door.

"I..." She hesitated, "I don't know yet."

"Hm," Ollivander hummed, he gave her a searching look, "Don't hold onto it, sweet girl. Some things are best left to others to keep hold of."

She frowned and nodded, she knew she should bring the wand to the Auror Department, but the idea of leaving behind Bellatrix's wand was like an achievement she was forced to let go of.

"One last thing," he said, smiling as if nothing serious had been spoken of seconds ago, "Black Walnuts have a special flair for charmwork, I hope to see some beautiful spells by your hand in the future."

The door closed behind her and she turned to walk in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. In one of the windows of a trinket shop, there hung a clock. It made her aware of how long she had been at Ollivander's. It was three past one. That explained her hunger. She would eat something at the Leaky Cauldron before Apparating to the bourders of Luna's house.

With mingled feelings, she walked with her hand in her pockets. The lightness of her new wand was freeing and the desire to try out spells was all the more present inside her. Yet, at the same time, Ollivander's parting words kept repeating themselves inside her head and made it harder for her to feel relieved at having found herself a new wand.

_'What are you planning to do with Mrs Lestrange wand?'_


	18. Not being 'Whole', part a

A seagull flew over them, it screamed into the wind as it went seawards. Luna watched its flight, her loose blond hair whipping in her face. Hermione, on her turn, watched Luna. Something was not right, Luna was too withdrawn. They had been walking on this rocky beach for a while, mostly in silence.

Hermione had not yet dared to ask how Luna's trip to her mother's grave had been. If it had helped her and her father. She wanted to wait for a better moment.

Luna suddenly broke through her thoughts, "Sometimes I wonder how it is possible for a seagull's scream to carry so far. Even now, with the growing distance between us, we can hear its screams." Luna gazed still at the white bird which was gradually becoming a moving white fleck. "Is it the mythical sorrow they feel?"

"'Mythical sorrow'?" The Muggle-born repeated, puzzled by the term.

"There is a Greek myth which concerns a young woman, who, upon swimming after the ship of a man she longs for, gets turned into a seagull. The Greeks said that the screams of seagulls mirror her screams of unrequited love."

"Ah," Hermione said, at a loss for words. She stayed quiet for a few more seconds, then she asked, "do you want to make me aware of something?"

"I do," Luna said neutrally, she turned her gaze back to the rocks on the beach and started to walk once more.

Hermione followed by her side, she was trying for patience, but she felt her worry grow inside her, with sudden certainty she knew that somehow - somewhere along the line - she had let her friend down.

At last, she opened her mouth to speak, though all she said was, "Luna?" That one word sounded far too imploring to her ears.

The younger woman glanced sideways at Hermione, her eyes were kind still, not a trace of resentment could be found there. "Hermione," she said in response, as a simple jest.

A hesitant smile graced Hermione's features, then she sighed, resigning herself to wait for Luna to speak her mind once she was ready. She wondered if she should reach out and take Luna's hand in hers, to have a nonverbal connection. In the end, she did not do so, she was sure that Luna was not mad at her despite her hurt feelings.

The rest of their stroll was made in silence. A time during which she tried to not think about Viktor and Harry's wellbeing. A worry which - now that she was separated from them again - had been persistent.

She wondered if Harry was still at the Tonks's residence or if he had already joined the Weasleys at the Burrow. It had only been two days ago that she had argued in their kitchen. Memories of Fleur's dark blue eyes surfaced in her mind, how they had stared coldly at her, arrogance radiating off of her. French and heavily accented English which had filled the air, mingling with her own hesitant, though equally heated, French. Hermione shook her head, they had made up. All she could do now was to be patient and give their friendship time to heal. She remembered the smiles which Fleur and she had shared just before the disbanding of the party.

The Muggle-born sighed in the silence, she shook her hands to keep the blood circulation going and was reminded of her wand. Her _own_ wand. Should she tell Luna about it now? Hermione mentally shook her head, she would wait for a better moment.

At some point, they returned to Luna's house, but the Ravenclaw spoke of things related to their upcoming - and last - year at Hogwarts and how classes would be now that they would share some of them. It felt like Luna wanted to fill the space between them with anything but what Hermione had tried to discuss.

When they entered the kitchen, Xenophillius was preparing dinner and called them to him. They helped him around, though Hermione quickly gave up on chopping the vegetables, for the two Lovegoods had their way of working around the kitchen.

Instead, Hermione set the table whilst she answered Xenophillius' questions regarding Nettleback Wickletuffs - about which she had heard of once, from the man himself - only for him to correct her assumptions. Though she had grown to respect Luna's creatures over the years, times like these were still difficult for her. Where Luna was more subdued about her beliefs, Xenophillius was rather insistent about it all.

She was relieved to go straight to Luna's room after dinner. Twilight had yet to fall, but they were already preparing Hermione's bed. They were quiet as they worked. Only when they were done did Hermione brave the subject again, "Luna, what is bothering you? What makes you hesitant to share it with me?"

She watched for a moment as the younger woman walked to her closet. Then Hermione reached for a chair and set it beside her bed, to use it as a makeshift bedside table. There was a rustle of clothing and Hermione kept her back towards her friend and changed into her pyjamas as well, throwing her clothes over the back of the chair. The silence to her question bothered her slightly, but she knew that Luna had heard her and would eventually reply.

The Muggle-born sat down on her bed and watched Luna trudge around her room, carrying some potted plants to a different windowsill, with her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. Luna readjusted the plants on their new places with care and once that was done, continued to brush her teeth as she walked to the bathroom. Hermione sighed as she realized she still had to brush her teeth as well. _I will do it later,_ she thought and then started to wonder about what she had done to make Luna so hesitant to share it with her. Never before had Luna been like this with her, the Ravenclaw had always been blunt, in her eccentric ways.

While Luna was in the bathroom, Hermione picked up her shoulder bag from the floor and rummaged inside it for one of Poppy's Dreamless Sleep Draughts. Her fingertips brushed over a wooden, rectangle-shaped box. The one which held Bellatrix's wand.

_What are you planning to do with Mrs Lestrange's wand?_ Ollivander's question echoed inside her once more.

She withdrew her fingers quickly as if electricity had shot through her at the contact. With a perplexed expression, she looked down at the bag in her lap, almost like she was accusing it of letting the accidental contact happen. Half a dozen seconds passed before she shook her head and summoned the potion - _something I should have done in the first place,_ she told herself irritably. Her bag she laid once more on the ground close to her bed and the bottle she put on the chair. She would get a glass of water when she brushed her teeth.

All the while, the question stayed with her. She had yet to think of an answer. What were her options? What did she want to do? She did not even feel like thinking about it. But she could hardly keep Bellatrix's wand hidden inside her shoulder bag forever.

Another sigh escaped Hermione, a deep, miserable sigh. With a flick of her wrist, her wand came out of its holster and she held it in both her hands. She looked down, relief flooded her again as she felt how the wood brimmed with life and responded to her energy.

"You have a new wand, too," Luna smiled. She stood in the doorway, watching her with interest. "Since when?"

"This morning," Hermione smiled back, "Ollivander is a true master in the making of wands."

"You sound relieved."

"I am," nodded she, "for a few days I was convinced that Lestrange's wand had made me unfit to use any other kind of wand."

The younger woman nodded and walked towards her bed, magically closing the door behind her.

"What's going on with you?" Hermione asked again, though by now she did not expect a response. She caressed her wand and tried to focus on the sensation of the wood underneath her fingertips.

Then Luna finally decided to answer her, tearing through her thoughts. "I haven't been feeling so well lately," she answered as she sat down on her bed and laid down on her side. She watched Hermione as she continued, "But the reason why I have difficulty telling you is..." She fell silent, momentarily halting whilst she pulled her blanket over her body.

"Because I am the cause?" Hermione tried to help, looking over at her. A heavy feeling constricted her as she voiced the words. Though she could not think of anything she had done that could make Luna feel unwell, it was obvious that this something was related to her at the very least.

"No," Luna looked gloomily at her. "No, Hermione, it's not your fault. You have done nothing to hurt me intentionally. It's your absence, that makes me worry..."

Raised eyebrows conveyed Hermione's confusion, but she kept quiet.

"It's difficult to explain," Luna continued at seeing her companion's confusion, "You have changed, you are withdrawn. And yet you are there for the people that matter to you. It's like you care too much, yet I find it difficult to reach you. I have tried to connect and you are responsive, but it's like you haven't been able to see me. At least, not on your initiative. Like you are not whole enough to do so, even though you want to, so desperately."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione said feeling hurt and defensive, "I have reached out to you and we wrote letters to each other. And I try to help..."

Luna sighed and looked very sad, "That is... I know, Hermione, I... I did not mean it like that..."

"But then... I don't- I don't understand it," she disliked saying those words but she truly did not understand what Luna was talking about. War changed people and Hermione knew she had, but she got the impression Luna was not talking about that. Well, partially, but not completely.

The Ravenclaw sighed, her hands came from underneath the blanket. She sat up, gathered her hair and started to loosely braid it while her eyes stared into oblivion. Luna stayed quiet for a few moments as she mulled over her thoughts. When she spoke her voice was soft, "Sorry, I don't know how else to explain it to you."

They had both been quiet for a long while, when Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Earlier, on the beach, you were talking about 'mythical sorrow', was that all regarding me?"

Despite their serious moods, Luna chuckled, "Sorrow is an emotion, it cannot be bound to a single person. It's not bound to the seagulls either."

The Muggle-born frowned though her cheeks coloured in embarrassment, "I- I didn't mean it like that- like I am that important... I meant-"

A hand gently gripped her arm and halted the words on her lips, Luna had paused her braiding to reach for Hermione. Strands of hair escaped from the braid. The Muggle-born into Luna's earnest face, who said with emphasis, "Don't say that, you have to know that is not true. You _are_ that important to some people."

Despite her inability to believe it, she felt the heat on her cheeks intensify. As she looked at her fidgeting fingers again, she asked, "But what did you mean by it?"

Luna withdrew her hand and began to braid once more, she sighed as she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again she said, "So many died. Their lives forfeited prematurely... It's almost unthinkable. It _should_ be unthinkable…." She trailed off, shook her head and continued, "I am having dreams again, the same ones after my mom died. Flashbacks, but made worse due to the passing of time. Memories get unclear, but the feelings are there to manipulate. They become nightmares."

Hermione was quiet while she watched the Ravenclaw and waited for her to continue. Though she felt sympathy for Luna bloom, there was still the confusion and frustration she felt in regards to their current situation. It had been many years since she had felt this disconnected in their friendship.

A moment of silence was followed by a deep sigh before Luna almost whispered, "Visiting my mother's grave helped me and my father, she always has. But it's still hard. My father's anxiety hasn't lessened and our house is still not like home. Even though there are no creatures here to disturb my mind. I haven't been able to feel at home anywhere for a long while."

"And have you considered therapy?" Asked Hermione quietly.

This caused Luna to look at her, at that moment her eyes seemed to pierce right through her, "I have."

Instinctively, Hermione knew that she was busted, but, for a split second, she was not aware of what precisely. Then it hit her, Luna had known all along that she had not been making new appointments with her Mind Healer. She held her wand tighter but did not say or do anything.

"I have," repeated Luna, but she did not elaborate on it. Then she asked neutrally, "why haven't you been going?"

She cleared her throat, put her wand back into its holder and explained, "I am currently keeping a journal. Writing everything I do in it. Smith, my Mind Healer, hopes to see if there is anything noteworthy that could link to the curse on my arm. Something that could trigger the nightmare..."

"Do you think the curse needs any stimuli?"

"I- I don't know... But better safe than sorry."

"That rings with truth. Has the journal brought any clear answers?"

"Not... Not yet, there is something I noticed, however. But lately, it hasn't been reproduced..."

"I am glad," Luna smiled sincerely, "it is good to know that the clouds are moving, instead of spreading their fog. But why have you been scared to go?"

"I-" Hermione began but halted. It was useless to deny Luna's observations, she knew. The Muggle-born took a breath and started again, "I don't know."

Luna hummed but did not respond otherwise. She watched Hermione with kind eyes. Her hair was braided, she took an elastic band adorned with dancing miniature sunflowers and wound it around the end.

"I still have to brush my teeth," Hermione said after a while, she stood up from her bed and took her shoulder bag with her.

"Good night, Hermione," said Luna, "I think I will fall asleep soon. Or find a good book to help me along."

"Good night," said the Muggle-born and turned off the light as she walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

As she brushed her teeth before the mirror in the bathroom her mind went over the conversation she had just had. It bothered her that Luna had been unable to clear her confusion, it felt like an unresolved discussion, where both parties had tried to reach out to one another but neither had been able to get a hold of the other. Hermione halted in her brushing and looked at herself, observing closely what she saw. She had dark circles underneath her eyes, she looked tired.

The fact that she had to make a new appointment with Abigail Smith was all the more pressing now. _Why am I scared? I was so desperate for therapy during the hunt..._

A frown came upon her features, with a huff she continued to brush her teeth. She promised herself that she would write a letter to Abigail the very next morning. Even going so far to say that it had to be written before she would allow herself to do anything else.

With that resolution made she started to wonder if she could sneak out of the house and practice outside with her wand. Despite her tired eyes, sleep was far from her mind. She felt far too awake to go back into Luna's room, even though she knew she should take her draught soon.

Hermione shook her head, she would not go outside, that would only make her vulnerable to possible enemies. As she spat out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth she decided that she would search for a room in her Animagus form. But first, she had to pee.

She ended up in Xenophillius's study, old issues of the Quibbler were all over the room. Many in piles atop each other, some stood between the books in the bookcases and a few had been torn up in pieces. There was a desk that stood close to the windows with an oddly angled chair behind it. Though from a look at the layer of dust, Hermione deduced that the man had not been here for months. She noted to herself that she would have to charm the dust back into place once she would leave the room.

The Muggle-born slowly transformed back into her human form so as to not make the floorboards creak underneath her increasing weight. She kept her vixen eyes, that way she would not need a light source in the darkening evening.

Once she sat comfortably crouched she put a silencing charm on the room. At this point she dared to stand and walk around, taking her wand from its holster.

As she held it again, she felt the surge of relief once more. She flicked her wand and the first nonverbal spell was cast. Happiness exploded inside her as she watched her magic unfold, it made her fingertips tingle. A smile lit up her face, along with the spell's colour.

* * *

Hunger gnawed at her, the discomfort was too prominent to go unnoticed, despite her drugged mind. Where?

Bellatrix opened her eyes slowly, blinked several times, but even with her eyes open she could not see anything, everything was dark. A restlessness settled inside her, she needed to move. The 'where' did not matter, she had to move.

But the fog was heavy, heavier than it had been, it pressed down on not only her mind but her whole body. She tried to stir, however, merely a tremble was evident in her limbs. Though, once it started, the tremble did not stop.

Hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor, she could vaguely discern the noise from her own escalated heart rate which drummed loudly in her ears. Panic. She could not deny the feeling which strangled her. Yet, not a sound left her mouth, she would not let herself sink to that level of disgrace.

* * *

It felt like she was slowly being dragged out of a deep, dark cavern. Against her will. She liked the cave, it was hers. She liked the darkness inside it and preferred its warmth. She started to struggle against the force that was dragging her.

From far away, something echoed, "-mione, wake up."

And further out of her cave she was dragged. Faster this time. She tried to get a hold of something, tried to wriggle back into the darkness. With her hands, she grasped for something to keep hold of. At once she held onto something.

"- in the garden," it echoed, unrelenting. Though it was weakening, for she had a good grip on that something and was pulling herself back into the darkness.

_Garden? Right, obviously the garden,_ she thought as she pulled herself back into the depths of the cave, back into the familiar warmth. The darkness began to wrap itself around her again, she sighed, her breath left her slowly.

"It's Harry and Ron."

Instinct kicked in at hearing Harry's name. At once Hermione let go of what she had been holding on to and let herself be dragged out of her cavern.

The Muggle-born struggled to open her eyes, she moaned, it took all her effort to wake up. Her eyes cracked open, her sight was blurred for a moment. Though the light was harsh to her eyes, she was able to keep them open, but only as cracks. She cleared her throat before she asked in slurred words, "Harry? Harry is here?"

"Come, let's go down," Luna said and tugged gently at her pyjama's sleeve.

Slowly she struggled out of bed, murmuring nonsensical words as she followed Luna's trail, who waited for her patiently every few metres. Hermione walked sleepily after her friend down the stairs and into the kitchen, her eyes were puffy from a lack of sleep. Her mind was still sleep-fogged, she stood a bit aimlessly near the kitchen table while Luna went to open the door. As she did, the younger woman smiled at the people outside and walked into the garden, "Good morning. For a moment I thought it was a bird that had come to tick on my window."

"Well, we could always climb on your windowsill," joked Ron. Though Hermione did not see him she could hear his grin in his voice.

While Hermione listened to Luna and Ron greet each other, Harry walked into the kitchen, where she stood drowsily. Her mind was still half asleep from the Dreamless Sleep draught. He chuckled as he walked towards her and hugged her tight, softly he whispered in her ear, "Couldn't sleep, glad to see you are okay."

At hearing his voice and smelling his scent her brain started to wake up a bit faster, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him even tighter. "Good morning," her words were muffled because of his jacket.

* * *

"This cannot go on, Richard," Abigail said as she threw open the door into her friend's office. The tall man, who sat behind his desk, did not look up from the page he was reading. This did not dissuade the Mind Healer from walking inside, closing the door just a tad bit too hard and continuing to berate him, "You went too far already, her body is failing her. I can't have you kill her just because you want her to spell out to you what we already know she did."

"We don't know anything," Richard corrected her, sounding extremely annoyed. He turned the page from the journal he was reading, "we only suspect. With a 71% certainty."

"And I say that is enough," Abigail rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, "what else is there that she could have done, why is it so hard to accept that she did something that was considered impossible."

"Abigail, don't bother," he spoke flatly, finally looking up at her.

"Problem is, I do bother," she retorted sharply, took a breath and continued, "You have to stop Macmillan. I know he thinks he is helping you with the absurd interrogations, but this is ridiculous. The night shift called me in at 4 am. I needed the assistance of two other Healers to get her statistics back under control. Lestrange may have phenomenal mental control, but her body is battered. You are not giving her body the time it needs to properly heal."

He started to drum his fingers on top of the open journal, "I will make sure we won't use any kind of potions for the time being. But we cannot stop the interrogations, we need answers. Who knows how many others Voldemort taught the trick to?!"

"As if Lestrange would ever give you the information!" The Healer had difficulty keeping her voice down, she was tired and angry. She succeeded nonetheless, "Lestrange survived years of imprisonment in that hellhole. Dementors swarming around her cell every second of the day and you think you will get her to talk by drowning her in Veratiserum?!"

"We have to try," he said, still annoyed, though something cracked in his mask, he was not a fan of the situation at all. "Gawain expects more than a 'we suspect' on the rapport. You know this, you know the goddamn-"

"Yes, I know the fucking drill," snapped Abigail, "but I also know that a person's life is on the line. And when I was still an Auror, no matter what the person had done, their lives were not something to be toyed with."

Achebe kept looking at her, his stern eyes softened a little, though his frown stayed. "You are aware that this is different," he put away the journal, "Right?"

"Obviously," she snorted, "but that does not give you leeway to go to these extremes."

He nodded, "I agree."

"I know you do, but you have to do more than that," she sighed, feeling her anger subside a little. "Stop Macmillan, or Gawain, or whoever keeps urging you to use that damned poison."

A slow smile graced his lips, warm and sincere, "Aye, captain." Then his expression became serious once more, "All I can give you is a few days, Gawain is breathing down our necks. He wants answers before Kingsley makes it public that she is still among the living."

"Give me five," Abigail nodded with conviction. "Her body will be far from truly healed, but good enough for interrogation."

"Too many, three will have to suffice."

"Five," she was resolute. "I can't rush her recovery."

He lifted one of his eyebrows, "Four, no more than that. If she is still weak by then, so be it."

* * *

Though Harry and Ron had come to get Luna and Hermione early in the morning, the group did not arrive at the edge of the wards until it was close to lunch, Hermione had written a letter to Abigail and had to make an extra stop at an owlery before they picked up Neville, Dean and Seamus.

The group walked into the direction of Shell Cottage, as they walked they filled the air with chatter. Once they were at the edge of the forest they could easily spot the house. Close to the cottage, a cloth had been spread over a patch of dune and a small group of people was busy with organizing the food and cutlery.

To her surprise, she saw that Andromeda and Teddy were present as well. Fleur was currently the one holding the blue-haired baby in her arms, while she spoke with Andromeda and George. Molly, Arthur, Ginny and William worked around them.

"Just in time for lunch," Arthur smiled kindly as he came to greet the seven of them, arms wide as though he wanted to hug them all but he merely patted some of them on the shoulder.

Lunch was enjoyed with chatter as everyone caught up with one another. After which several games were played, for once Quidditch was not among them. Something Hermione was grateful for. Between games, people rested, went for a swim or took a stroll. But there were always a few people who were playing around.

There were times that Hermione's gaze fell upon Fleur, though she dared not approach her. Even though they had shared smiles and a polite 'nice to see you's' at her arrival, starting a conversation was a bit too much of a hurdle for her.

* * *

Hermione walked close to the sea's waves, where the sand was sturdier and easier to walk on, whilst she made sure she did not step into the salty water. After a whole day of interacting with other people, she had taken a short break. To breathe and enjoy the merriment of the group from a distance, to feel a bit more like herself. Though, all the while, she was aware that she could not stay away for too long.

Dusk had fallen upon them and a large fire had been built in her absence. She could easily see the flames growing from her place. As she neared the group she could see that Seamus had taken responsibility for keeping the fire stoked. As she came closer to the campfire, she saw that a small group was already on their way home. She had been absent during their farewells.

In a flash, Hermione was brought back to the moment she had obliviated her parents. When she had not waited to see their blank stares settle on her nor to be confronted with the questions 'who she was' and 'what she was doing in their house'. There had been no farewells then either.

She shook her head, blinked a few times and focussed on the departing figures. Ignoring the feeling of loneliness which wanted to overwhelm her.

Andromeda walked with a sleeping Teddy in her arms. Molly, Arthur and George accompanied them. Hermione expected that the three Weasleys would escort her home and then go back to the Burrow, preparing the extra beds for Neville, Dean and Seamus. She had heard some snippets of conversation during dinner, of Molly insisting that they should stay for the night.

Hermione watched them with a twinge of worry as they walked to the Apparition point; George had sagged shoulders, exhaustion and sadness radiated from him. However, during the day there had been moments that he had smiled, a true smile, albeit still a broken one. For the first time, Hermione wondered if he would ever be able to re-open the joke shop.

The Muggle-born sighed and shook her head as she turned her back on the departing figures and continued on her way to the campfire. She would visit the Burrow soon, she had to. Guilt gnawed at her for being so absent, they had been there for her whenever she had needed their help. She could not repay their kindness with her absence.

She sat down in the circle of light from the fire, unable to find the energy to partake in one of the ongoing conversations, but aware that she could not distance herself even more after her lone stroll. The people around the fire were all in merry spirits, butterbeer and marshmallows were readily available to keep them fed and a radio was playing softly in the background. Hermione felt comfortable to watch them all in silence, she felt at ease and her mind was relatively calm, despite the flashback to her parents' Obliviation. The loneliness was still there too, but she tried to focus on what was happening around the fire instead of feeling sorry for herself.

It was not long till Harry sat down beside her, shifting a little to grab some hard stones from underneath him, "hi."

"Hey," she said, observing the party rather than looking at him.

Ginny was trying to juggle four marshmallows in the air and was succeeding, whilst being cheered on by a clapping Luna in a beat that was only known to her. Ron's growing grin was visible in the flames of the fires as he watched his sister's trick. Naturally, he had to break the spell, for he gave Ginny a little shove against her shoulder, successfully breaking her concentration. The marshmallows tumbled to the ground, of which one disappeared into the flames. The youngest Weasley glared at her brother, picked up the fallen marshmallows and threw them at him. Neville laughed at that and patted Ron on the shoulder.

Harry chuckled as they watched the scene unfold, Hermione smiled as well though it was soon gone. She looked away from the growing battle between siblings to examine the person beside her, "Earlier today you said you slept badly," she uttered quietly. "What troubled you?"

He shrugged and ran a hand through his messy hair, a slight frown darkened his expression, "The usual. People dying all over again. Watching as Sirius disappears behind the veil... Hearing your screams... And Dobby dying in my arms..."

Viktor's words echoed in her mind; she had to give Harry space, to let him figure things out whenever he was ready. She bit her lip to keep herself from asking when he planned on starting with therapy.

However, the rueful smile that appeared on his lips told her that Harry saw the question in her eyes, despite her efforts.

"I don't know, Hermione," he admitted. "I... I just don't feel inclined to share everything yet."

"But will you ever feel inclined," she pressed now that he had started on the subject. "Is there ever a moment anyone feels like they want to lay themselves bare to a stranger with a certificate in psychiatry?"

He laid a hand on her knee but said nothing as he averted his eyes in the direction of the sea, he was clear in his message though. _Please, let this go._

Hermione sighed and let her gaze drop for a few seconds before she scooted closer to Harry, their sides touched ever so slightly. It was a silent comfort. Hermione followed his gaze then, watching the sea as it moved in the distance. Though it was becoming difficult to see with the darkening sky and the waxing moon partially hidden behind the moving clouds.

"You will come with me right?" Harry said suddenly, "To Snape's funeral."

"Of course," Hermione responded at once. "Does Ron know?"

"Yeah, he doesn't get it though, says that I am bonkers."

"He has a point," she muttered.

Harry looked with unbelieve at her, "How can you say that?"

"Don't look at me like I am crazy," she said softly, not wanting to draw attention to them. "Harry, Snape bullied students from every house but his own, you weren't his only target."

"He did it to cover himself, to stay undercover," said Harry slightly defensively.

"Was it?" Hermione looked Harry straight in his eyes, she was very serious in her doubts. Though the man had played an incredibly important role in the war, he had been a git and had used his power to mentally abuse. "Was it truly only to cover himself?"

Though he looked right back at her, Harry did not say anything. He did not know.

After a few moments like this, Hermione continued, "Forgiveness isn't something that comes easily to many people… After all, it's one of your defining qualities and what made you triumph over Voldemort."

"I suppose so," he mumbled, averted his gaze and threw a handful of sand in the direction of the campfire. The fire crackled and the radio was turned louder as Ginny said 'This is a good one'. Then Harry said, "I wonder how Hagrid is doing. If he is enjoying himself."

"Yeah," she nodded, "and when he will be back."

"We should check in on Grawp soon."

"Tomorrow?" She asked.

"After breakfast," he agreed.

Hermione nodded again, "You pick me up?"

He hummed in agreement, then in a softer voice he added, "Ron will want to come along."

"I know," she concurred just as softly and bumped their knees softly, "it's okay. When our last year at Hogwarts starts we will be the trio again anyway, so I better get used to it."

"True," Harry said as he made their knees bump a second time.

She started fidgeting with the rims of her sweater. It was one of Viktor's Quidditch sweaters, far too big for her, but therefore all the more comfortable. She wondered how she, Harry and Ron would function as the trio again. Her patience was running thin regarding Ron's behaviour at times. Would she get away with ignoring him or would that trigger one of his temper tantrums?

The fire drew her eyes away from the people around them, while her thoughts travelled to her lover. She wondered how Viktor was doing, she missed him. It had been a luxury, having him around so much. She hoped his mother had not insisted on cutting off his hair.

A laugh made her look away from the flames as they licked at the air, Luna was laughing at a joke William had made, Dean grinned too. Hermione smiled at seeing the merriment, it had been a long time since Luna had looked so carefree.

"Care if I join you?" Fleur's voice broke Hermione from her thoughts.

"Of course," Harry said lightly, patting the sand beside him. "We were just brooding, which can always be done another time."

Hermione smiled her hello as she met Fleur's eyes before the quarter Veela sat down beside Harry.

"Oh no, do continue. I am just 'ere to roast some marshmallows," the older woman said as she waved her hand and silently summoned one of the branches and an opened bag of the marshmallows. Hermione watched Fleur skewer one on the sharpened end of the branch and hold it close to the fire.

Following Fleur's example, Harry summoned a branch as well, spiking two marshmallows on it before holding it out. Then he said, "So how is your family? How is it now that you can see them again?"

Fleur turned her face to them and beamed the smile of a person whose burden had been taken away after months of insistent worrying. It was a beautiful sight. "Eet's fantastic. And they are all well. Though my father did suffer from a wound, causing some problems for 'is 'ealth. But 'e 'as been recovering, with the extra 'elp of a Potion Master -"

The Muggle-born listened to their conversation contentedly, she was grateful for the easy banter between her two companions. She felt like any wrong word, no matter how innocent, could destroy the peace between her and Fleur. Harry's presence was a perfect way to keep a conversation going without her needing to speak at all.

As Hermione listened, she watched the warmth and colours of the flames dance over their faces. Harry's wild dark hair framed his face, made him look like he had just jumped off a broom. Whilst Fleur's hair, glowing slightly rose in the fire's light, was still in the bun at the nape of her neck, though it had become messy after a whole day on the beach. All the while, Harry asked after Fleur's family members.

"I am happy for you," he said earnestly, after hearing that Fleur's grandmother was doing relatively well, considering her age. "Do you plan on going back anytime soon?"

"Thank you, 'Arry. And, oui," Fleur nodded, holding back her branch to inspect her marshmallow. It was clearly not yet ready for she held it close to the flames again. "Gabrielle's birthday ees coming up. William and I will be there to celebrate eet with my family."

Hermione braved her first enquiry, "How old will she be?"

"17, she ees finally getting out of that teenager phase. Merde, she could be such a little ass," Fleur chuckled as she said this and brought the marshmallow to her mouth and blew away the heat.

Hermione bit her lip and stared into the fire, a few weeks ago she would have joked that Gabrielle had a good role model, but now she simply said, "Glad that she is growing out of it." It felt weird to say this since she was not that much older, but she figured she had to say something.

Fleur simply hummed and took a bite of her marshmallow. Though as she chewed she looked over at Hermione, her eyes did not convey any emotion. All the while, the fire was mirrored in them, red reflections danced over blue irises.

Harry took his marshmallows away from the fire and offered them to Hermione. Who smiled and took the branch from him. After she had blown some air to let it cool down, she carefully took a bite from the upper marshmallow, she closed her eyes as she bit through the roasted outer layer and into the gooey inside. Her lips were already sticky from the single bite. It had been years since she had last eaten one. She relished the taste.

"So, Fleur, are you going back to your old job?" Harry asked.

"Non," she shook her head, "Gringotts 'as no need for a part-timer right now, I am going to see eef the Ministry could use my 'elp."

"Is it hard to find a job?" He asked while he gazed longingly at the last marshmallow on the branch in Hermione's hands as she bit into the remainders of her own. While she chewed she handed him back the branch.

"I 'onestly don't know, William still 'as 'is work, so there ees no immediate need for me to work," then she sighed, "though I suppose I need to start looking as soon as we return from France."

"Well, if we hear anything about a job opportunity whilst you are gone, we will send you a letter," Harry promised before he bit into his marshmallow.

"A firecall would be quicker," noted Hermione, at which Harry rolled his eyes. Then she glanced at Fleur and asked, "What kind of position are you looking for?"

The quarter Veela tucked a stray hair behind her ear and answered, "There ees not a certain field of work I want to specify een, the most important thing ees that I want to be active, I do not feel much for a desk job."

"What about becoming an Auror then?" Said Harry eagerly after he had swallowed his bite. "They always need new recruits. You would rise in ranks in no time!"

Fleur made a non-committal sound, "Eet's certainly an option. Though I first want to see what else there ees."

Harry hummed, "Fair enough, though there are a lot of different divisions in the Auror department."

"Stop it," Hermione said and playfully shoved his shoulder, "you aren't even an Auror yourself and you are already advocating for them."

He laughed, "So what!? It's important work."

She rolled her eyes at his answer, "So are other jobs within the Ministry, you dolt."

Fleur looked at him with a smile, "I shall keep eet een mind, 'Arry."

* * *

By the time they returned on Hogwarts' grounds after their visit to Grawp, rain plummeted down upon them. The trio ran the rest of the way to the castle but they were still drenched when they came to a halt in the entrance hall of the castle. They heaved breaths after their sprint through the soggy grass.

"How is the castle?" Asked Ron as he took off his coat and began to squeeze water from it. "Are the repairs still going on?"

While Harry took off his robe he said, "No, not anymore, but there are still moments when Hogwarts' walls suddenly start grinding or shuddering."

"That is because Minerva and other people have been changing Hogwarts' inner structures of wards and enchantments," added Hermione. "We once saw Flitwick's charm work settling into some of the outer corridors."

"Though it is nice that our hard work gets noticed, I do have to ask you to keep it to yourselves, please," came a voice from the direction of the Great Hall. Filius walked towards them and while he neared them he added with a smile, "It's no secret that we are bettering our defences, for as far that is possible, but the fewer people who know, the better."

"Of course, Professor," the trio said in unison.

He nodded in satisfaction, took his wand and twirled it once. It charmed their clothes a little dryer, though some dampness stayed in places. "How are your parents, Mr Weasley? Is Molly alright?"

"Yes, sir," Ron nodded and hung his cloak over one arm, "my mom is doing okay... a little better, I suppose."

"I said it before, Mr Weasley," Filius said, his eyes had a sadness to them, "but I will say it again. I am deeply sorry for your loss."

Ron's expression saddened too, something which happened often, "Thanks, Professor."

Filius nodded to himself, cleared his throat and said, "Well then, I wish you three a good day." The small man turned around and waved over his shoulder.

Hermione said quickly to Harry and Ron that she would meet with them later before she went after Flitwick. "Professor, wait," she said and took a few hasty steps to catch up to him.

"I am on my way to McGonagall, I take it you want to join me?" He asked her expectantly.

"Yes, please," she said at once, "I have been meaning to talk to her."

He glanced at her, "I hope nothing is amiss?"

"Nothing is wrong," she said, "just a few questions I have been meaning to ask."

On their way, they spoke of mundane things such as the weather, how the preparations for the new school year were coming along and how the visit to Grawp had been.

When they arrived in McGonagall's office the woman was sitting behind her desk, writing a letter. "Good morning, Filius," she muttered as she continued to write. Her desk, though clean, was filled with folders and paper. More so than usual.

Hermione was surprised to see that Minerva was not dressed in her usual kind of cloak of strong wool or cotton dyed in a dark colour, instead, she wore an old fashioned, white blouse, with her greying hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. She watched her professor seal the letter with wax and the emblem of Hogwarts.

When Minerva looked up and saw Hermione she was visibly surprised, "I did not know you were staying at the castle once more, Miss Granger." Calmly - though with swift movements - she began to bundle her hair up in her signature knot, hairpins came flying to her aid from an adjoined room, of which the door closed soundly.

The younger woman shook her head, "No, Professor, not yet. We visited Grawp and there were still some things I wanted to ask you."

With her hair taken care of Minerva looked sterner, "Of course, sit down. However, I have a meeting scheduled with my deputy, I hope you won't mind Flitwick's presence?"

"No, that's fine. I can also come back-"

Minerva waved the possibility away, "That won't be necessary. I have been informed by the office's gargoyle that you have tried visiting before, but I was not there to receive you. And it is about time we have a conversation. Sit down, Miss Granger, please."

As she took a seat Hermione began with her first question, "After we went to my home, we returned to Hogwarts, but soon thereafter you went on your way to the Ministry. You told me you would relay the information I had given you, so that-"

"So that the Aurors would not bother you unnecessarily," Minerva finished for her and stood up from her chair to walk to one of the windows. As she opened it, she said, "Rest assured that the trip was not in vain. I spoke to Gawain and Kingsley, both are the only people in the Ministry who know in detail of your predicaments."

Hermione nodded, though her gaze travelled to Flitwick, he met her gaze and smiled kindly at her. She smiled back feeling some of the tension in her shoulders subside, though in her mind she wondered if he knew at all what this was about.

"Filius knows the red lines," Minerva said as she turned to face them again. "As my Deputy, he has to know about what is going on to at least some degree, in case he needs to take over."

Hermione nodded once, "He, I mean you-" she looked back at Professor Flitwick with an apologetic smile, "- you may know the details, too. That would make it easier."

He nodded in response and reached out to touch her arm. His hand was warm and gentle, "Only if you wish to, you can always come by my office at a later time."

Minerva watched the exchange with some relief, this was good progress. Her student was willing to talk about it to some people.

At the window the noisy flapping of wings announced the arrival of three pigeons, McGonagall turned her attention to them at once. A moment later a falcon flew inside as well and landed with far more grace on the edge of the windowsill.

From thin air, Minerva produced three small, round capsules and summoned the sealed letter from her desk. The latter was easily given to the falcon, who, without a second of hesitation, flew up, grasped the letter in its claws and went outside in one swift motion. His flight took him eastwards.

The carrier pigeons were a bit more difficult to work with, but with a few short commands, the birds stayed in their places. After which the capsules were strapped to their claws easily enough. She praised them quietly before she gave a flick of her fingers and watched them fly away in differing directions.

While the Headmistress was busy, Hermione told Filius everything, from the decision to obliviate her parents to the fact that Death Eaters were after them and had blown up her home and neighbourhood whilst doing so. She was able to keep her emotions at bay, telling people about her predicament was still a hard thing to do, but she knew it was for the best. She could not do this - keeping her parents safe - alone.

When she was at the end of her tale, Minerva sat back down opposite of her and Hermione turned to look at her expectantly. She did not bother to voice her question aloud, for she knew it was written all over her face.

McGonagall nodded ever so slightly and started retelling her visit to the Ministry. She leaned with her elbows on her desk as she spoke, "There is not that much to tell, really. I went to see Kingsley, I knew I could find him in his office, where he was waiting for me. We spoke about your predicament and speculated once more about the destruction. Mostly we spoke of possible places to search for the Death Eaters and what could be their reasons for these actions."

"Well, they want to blackmail me, don't they? They want to get their hands on my parents so that they can use me as blackmail in turn. All in order to get to Harry," Hermione said almost monotonously. She could not allow this knowledge to get to her, this was, after all, exactly why she had chosen to obliviate her parents and change their life's dreams to living a different life in Australia. In a perverse way, she was happy that her sacrifice had not been in vain. Which she would never say aloud, for it was a part of herself she deeply despised.

"Yes, that is likely the case," her Professor agreed. "However, it's best to keep an open mind, see if there is anything else they could achieve with this. We also looked once more over all the information from the forensics. Which was when Gawain came in to report on something. When he heard the information you had given me, he wished to take part in our discussion. There were some heads on the team who needed to be given some information as well. All in all, know that the information was not given to those who did not need to know. There is a team on it and they have direct contact with Ministries of other countries."

Though the threat was still there, Hermione felt ever so slightly reassured that there was truly a team dedicated to protecting her parents. "Have they located my parents yet?"

Minerva shook her head, "Last I heard there was no headway made. You should get in contact with Gawain about this. He did tell me he needed to ask you a few questions."

Hermione wondered if among those questions there was also one regarding the wand she had been holding in the photo Skeeter had made of her, "Do they need a statement from me? Or will they want to do a whole interrogation?"

"They will want to ask a couple of questions, yes, but I doubt Gawain wants to ask them in an official setting."

"Can I go to them myself or do I need to wait?"

"If you do, make sure to go on a Monday morning to his department, ask the assistant at the reception for a personal appointment. They will likely state that is impossible, but just keep pressing the matter. This matter is not something to write about in letters, as you no doubt understand."

"Alright, I will make a visit soon." the Muggle-born nodded as she made the mental note. There was a moment of silence, during which Hermione steeled herself to bring up a secret she had kept for years. Both Filius and Minerva waited patiently. She was about to open her mouth when a soft plop sounded in the room.

The gentle tip-tap of naked feet on the floor announced the appearance of a house-Elf. He was dressed in a tidy shirt and sturdy trousers. When he got into view and stood beside Minerva he bowed deeply for the people in the room and asked with a lilting voice, "Madam, does you wants breakfast nows? And teas for the guests?"

"Tea will be fine, with some biscuits, please. And thank you, Timothy, for your concern," Minerva looked at him with a warm smile.

Timothy stiffened for a moment, smiled slightly in return before he bowed again and even more deeply than before, "Of course, Madam." With another plop, he was gone.

Hermione gazed with a deep frown at the place where the Elf had disappeared, the fact that nothing had changed for them yet, despite their heroic presence during Hogwarts' Battle, stung her. Though she had an inkling of how busy Minerva was, knew that she could not fight every battle and that she obviously did her best to make the lives of Elves as best as they could be here in Hogwarts, Hermione still felt a little let down.

She took a deep breath, controlled her feelings and waited a moment since Minerva and Filius were conversing about Timothy who was apparently a new addition to the household of the castle and still unused to this kind of communication.

Then the Muggle-born spoke up, "I still plan to go to the Wizengamot on behalf of the house-Elves. I want their constitutional rights to be revised and their work conditions to be overhauled."

Minerva's hummed and said with pride, "I expect nothing less from you."

"There have been other attempts to better their work and life conditions, right?" Hermione asked.

"As far as I can recall there was once before a call for change, but it was denied by the Wizengamot. It was many decades ago, things were different." Said Flitwick in his teacher's voice, "Though the call for change was not as progressive as yours, people thought differently about it. And enough people still think that way, unfortunately."

"You mean the case of Mr Baker?" Asked Minerva and without waiting for an answer she added, "That was in the newspapers. You can find those in the library."

Flitwick crossed his arms as he looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling, "Yes, in the year 1949, just after the New Year ball at the Ministry. If you want more on the lawsuit you can probably find some files in the public archive of the Ministry as well."

Hermione felt grateful for the information and summoned a piece of parchment and an 'inks-itself-quill' from her bag to quickly scribble the instructions down. During which, a tray with tea and biscuits appeared on the desk. Flitwick busied himself by pouring them each a cup.

When she was done she looked up and put quill and parchment to the side, in case she would need it again. "There is something I have been meaning to tell you. It's about Rita Skeeter."

Both Professors looked surprised at hearing the journalist's name. Minerva narrowed her eyes and said, "Please continue."

Hermione tried to keep from fidgeting, but it did not work. "I think she has found a way to infiltrate the ministry in the current chaos, and I am quite certain it's due to her Animagus form. She becomes a beetle."

Filius and Minerva were quiet for several dreadful seconds as they stared at her.

"What makes you share this with us?" Filius asked with a frown was on his face. "Since when do you know this?"

"Since the end of my Fourth year," Hermione confessed, "I realised how she knew the things she couldn't have known when I spotted the insect in the Hospital wing. I caught her and blackmailed her to stop writing about Harry."

They were quiet again, though not for long.

"The sudden lack of coverage on Harry did strike me as odd," Minerva mused softly as she seemed to recall newspapers before her mind's eyes. Then she focussed her eyes on Hermione again, "Why did you decide to blackmail her instead of coming to Dumbledore or one of the Professors? What made you handle the situation the way you did?"

The Muggle-born cleared her throat, she suddenly felt quite young and foolish, "At the time I thought this was best to deal with her on my own. You know, to have a trick up our sleeves. And with the Ministry so… inordinate at the time… I just... Skeeter would have ended up in Azkaban. I despise her kind of journalism, but no one deserves to be put in Azkaban. I would have felt horrible under the guilt if I had been the reason that she had ended up there."

"Despite knowing that unregistered Animagi are illegal?" McGonagall asked neutrally after she had taken a sip of her tea.

"Yes," Hermione looked away for a moment. She had a sinking feeling she had greatly disappointed her Professor. Despite this, she dared to say, "I don't regret it, my decision. I meant it. No one should be locked away in Azkaban. And we did need her help at some point, she wrote the article in the Quibbler."

"I am not questioning you about Azkaban, Miss Granger. Rather the choice not to share this sooner with Dumbledore or me."

Yes, she had definitely disappointed her Professor. Hermione felt the first tendrils of fear settle in her system, of the same kind her Boggart evoked in her. However, she had not failed Hogwarts' exams this time, she had failed her favourite Professor. That was worse. But surely McGonagall understood her reasoning, why Hermione had chosen to keep this fact a secret for so long?

"Why bring this up now?" Filius asked in a reserved tone, to change the direction of the conversation.

Hermione took a breath and told them about the encounter with Rita, how the journalist had wanted to talk about the wand she had pointed at her. All the while Skeeter had taunted how she had heard something in the Ministry and wanted to know about the identity of the original wandowner.

Filius said, sounding kinder this time, "You did what you thought was best, Miss Granger. However, this has to be put right. The Improper Use of Magic Office, the Administrative Registration Department and the Investigation Department all need to be informed of this news."

"But isn't it likely that Skeeter already has taken the needed action to cover her trail?"

"Even so," said Filius, "this has to be looked into. It's never a good thing when an Animagus form stays unregistered."

"I shall bring it up with Gawain," Hermione said resolutely. "when I visit him on Monday morning. That leaves me with time to have a clear statement ready."

The Headmistress nodded and said, "I will make a firecal to Kingsley this evening. Could you write to the departments, Filius?"

"Of course," he said and wrote something on a piece of parchment.

"Thank you," Minerva said. At that moment a hoot came from outside the windows. The Headmistress looked to see Gràinne staring at her. As she magically opened the window with a wave of her hand, she turned her attention back to Hermione and asked, "Was that all, Miss Granger?"

The barn owl hopped inside, hooting indignantly at Minerva, who ignored her completely as she kept her focus on her student.

Hermione really wanted to bring up Bellatrix's means of escape, to share her theory and hear if she was correct or not. Minerva, and possibly Filius, knew what had truly happened during the moment Molly had tried to kill the Death Eater. Instead, she shook her head and thanked them for their time. Minerva and Filius had other important matters to discuss and the owl clearly had a message too.

Both Professors wished her a good day as she walked out of the room. When she arrived at the bottom of the stairs and the gargoyle closed the entrance behind her, she realized that she had not even touched her tea.

The Muggle-born looked around the empty corridor, some people in the paintings waved at her. A forced smile was her reply. Without meaning to, she mindlessly wandered to the courtyard with the conversation on replay in her thoughts. She looked at the plants, for a moment she wondered if she could sit down between them. Then she reminded herself that Harry and Ron were here somewhere, she had to go and look where they waited for her. While she searched for them, she mentally distanced herself from the echoing memories of the conversation. She had no desire to share this while Ron was around.

Hermione found the boys in the Great Hall. They sat opposite each other, at the head of one of the four tables close to the big doors. With a chessboard between them.

When she joined the two she told them in a stage whisper, "You guys won't believe what I just saw."

"A tap-dancing werewolf?" Harry asked nonchalantly as he moved his queen.

"Check," Ron said as he moved his rook in response, then he looked at Hermione and said with a smile, "I bet it has something to do with books."

"Not this time, no," Hermione said. She planted her hands on the table and said slowly, emphasizing every word, "I just saw Minerva with her hair loose."

"You did not," Ron said in fake shock, though his growing grin broke the act.

Harry laughed out loud at their antics, "You are such a fangirl, Hermione."

Ron laughed too, though he defended her, "Everybody should, McGonagall is a legend."

"Oh please," she said and rolled her eyes at Harry as a smile grew on her lips, "you are just jealous."

* * *

"I am back," Hermione yelled while she shut the door behind her.

"You got a letter," came Luna's voice from the living room. Hermione entered the room and saw that her friend was busy with decorating the house. New creations adorned the walls and windows, the one Luna was currently tying up to the stair railing looked a lot like a dreamcatcher, but instead of beads and feathers, bones and dried herbs were tied in the threads.

"That looks interesting," Hermione said, wondering what it was for. Though the sight of the unopened envelope kept her from asking it. The handwriting on it showed her it was from Viktor. With a relieved smile she sat down to read the letter. Though, as she sat down, she startled in her seat and had to clench her jaws to stifle a gasp of surprise. A stab of pain had gone through her forearm as it had bumped lightly into the table. The wound on her arm was becoming sensitive again. Poppy's salve was starting to wear off.

With a deep breath, she focussed her attention back to the letter, while she made sure the scars on her arm did not come into contact with any kind of surface. She opened it, read its context and smiled again, Viktor would be returning to England in a few days.

* * *

Late next morning Hermione and Luna were on their way to the Burrow, each carried a bag with some tasty dishes since they planned to stay for dinner. The younger woman hummed a melody that Hermione had not heard before. Despite this, Hermione was distracted. The curse on her arm was playing up again. She had gotten so used to the numbness Poppy's creme provided that the prickling pain was a sensation she had difficulty ignoring.

She tried to focus on the sound of Luna's song, to see how summer began to truly settle over England. In the last few weeks the fresh, light green had made way for the darker shades. It felt good to walk in the shadows of the leaves, through which the wind rustled. Then the curse on her forearm throbbed and it broke the beautiful spell of nature.

When they arrived at the edge of the garden Molly came over and hugged each of them before she led them into the kitchen to store the food.

"Hey you two," said Ginny with a smile as she popped her head inside the room through the open doorway, "care to help us with de-gnoming the garden?"

"Of course," Luna said, smiling at her friend, "they are resilient little creatures, aren't they? They remind me of humans."

"Hah," Ginny laughed in surprise at the comparison, "I can't say you are wrong."

It was among the last things Hermione wanted to do, but she followed the others nonetheless. De-gnoming reminded her of the jokes Fred and George had always made with the creatures during the summers she had been here. Though she knew everyone was confronted with the same memories, there was a heaviness in the air even Luna seemed to be affected by.

In this manner they spend their first hours at the Burrow, picking up gnomes, careful not to get bitten and throwing them as far away as possible. During their work they unconsciously made small groups, Harry was with Luna, Ron with George and Hermione with Ginny.

She and Ginny strayed a bit out of the garden, to pick up the gnomes that were not thrown far enough away and tried to sneak back into their old nests.

"Sooo, how have you been?" Ginny asked after a while of throwing gnomes into the air.

The Muggle-born glanced at her before she shrugged and continued with her task, "I am fine. Why do you ask?"

Ginny arched a brow, "Just being friendly, is all."

"Oh, well… Sorry," Hermione said, making an effort to sound friendlier, to be less suspicious, "I am okay. Just glad to be with friends again. And not having to worry too much about being ambushed. How have you been?"

"Still looking over your shoulder, right? We all do..." A rueful smile was on her face, but it faded quickly. Ginny shrugged as a shadow came over her features, "It's difficult, it's depressing."

Hermione knew instantly that Ginny was talking about her deceased brother. She straightened and walked closer to her, laying her hand on Ginny's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Though no words passed her lips, she had no idea what she should say.

"I miss my brothers," Ginny said quietly, "Fred took something of George with him and I don't know if he will-" She stopped there, she took a deep breath and looked out over the landscape. "But," she began, "it has also brought us closer as a family. George is still not really functioning, but he is making an effort. And my dad is looking for a therapist for George, but also for us as a family."

"I think I know someone who can help you," Hermione said softly. Mentally she went through her memories, in her search of a good Mind Healer in all those files she had gone through to find her own. She knew had seen some with qualifications for grief counselling. Hermione could not remember their names, but she still had the files somewhere in her bag, she could look it up. "I can write some names down for you if you like?"

"How do you know this?" Ginny asked in surprise.

The Muggle-born plucked at the seams of Viktor's sweater and looked away for a few seconds. "Do you remember that break-in in St. Mungos a few weeks ago?"

Ginny barked a short laugh, "That was you?! Of course, that explains the impenetrable invisibility, you used Harry's cloak."

Hermione could not help a small smile, "Yell it louder will you, I don't think they can hear you at the Ministry."

"Right," Ginny said and grinned sheepishly, "So why break-in, anyway? You could have filed a request or, you know, ask my dad or Percy." She put her hands on her hips and looked expectantly at Hermione.

"Well- you know... eh-" Hermione began hesitantly, "Your family is grieving… Asking any of you… I just didn't want to bother you with it."

"If Harry would have told me you had willingly broken laws, I wouldn't have believed him," Ginny shook her head, "Wish I had been there to see it. Harry was with you wasn't he?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "But don't tell Ron, okay?"

"No, of course not, we don't want another argument, do we?" Ginny sighed looking dramatically up at the sky. Then she looked back at Hermione and promised, "He will get over you, I will make sure he does."

"That would be very welcome," she smiled ruefully.

Ginny bumped their shoulders together, "Come on, let's throw these last few buggers far away and go back inside."

Hermione nodded, though her line of sight travelled over to the other groups. Ron and George were working furthest away. She watched as Harry and Luna were talking, both with a gnome in their hands. Harry had been tense since the moment Hermione had seen him and she began to suspect something was off. "Ginny, did you have a row with Harry?"

"No, why?"

Hermione turned to look at her companion again, "No?"

"Honest," Ginny said and made a cross over her heart. "Why do you ask?"

She frowned and looked back at Harry and Luna, "He just seems so tense."

"Tense?" Ginny leaned forward to look as well then shook her head, "Nah. You are imagining things, Hermione."

The Muggle-born shrugged and turned her attention back to the thing at hand. To throw away the last remaining gnomes. Meanwhile, Ginny wondered aloud if Harry would teach Dumbledore's Army again if they had another hopeless DADA teacher for their last year at Hogwarts and how they could organize it.

However, Hermione did not really listen. In her mind, she wondered if Harry was so tense due to the funeral they would attend in a few hours. As she reached out for another gnome, she was swift enough to grab him with his body and limbs trapped in her grip and threw the little creature as far as she could. Though there was a flare of pain in her left forearm. It had been bothering her all the more during the de-gnoming of the garden. Hermione knew she would have to refresh her bandages before she and Harry would leave for the ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Gabrielle older than she is in the books because it will serve my needs better. She was still present at Hogwarts, is still as close with Fleur, and she was still used as bait during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.


End file.
